THE  GREAT  HUNGER 


BOOKS  BY  JOHAN  BOJER 


THE    FACE     OF     THE    WORLD: 
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LIFE:  12mo.,  339  pp.,  $2.00 

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THE  GREAT  HUNGER 


BY 


JOHAN  BOJER 


TRANSLATED  FBOM  THE  NORWEGIAN 
BY 

W.  J.  ALEXANDER  WORSTER 

AND 

C.  ARCHER 


New  York  &  London 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1923 


Copyright.  1919.  by 
MOFFAT.  YARD  &  COMPANY 

Second  Printing January,  19 It 

Third  Printing February,  1919 

Fourth  printing March,  1919 

fifth  printing May,  1S19 

Sixth  printing August  11,  1919 

Seventh  printing November,  1919 

Eighth  printing March,  19SC 

Ninth  printing July,  19&0 

Tenth  printing April,  1991 

Eleventh  printing January,  1963 


Printed  in  U.  8.  A. 


SRLF 
URL 


BOOK   I 


Chapter  I 

FOB  sheer  havoc,  there  is  no  gale  like  a  good 
northwester,  when  it  roars  in,  through  the  long 
winter  evenings,  driving  the  spindrift  before  it 
between  the  rocky  walls  of  the  fjord.  It  churns 
the  water  to  a  froth  of  rushing  wave  crests,  while 
the  boats  along  the  beach  are  flung  in  somersaults 
up  to  the  doors  of  the  grey  fisher  huts,  and  solid 
old  barn  gangways  are  lifted  and  sent  flying  like 
unwieldy  birds  over  the  fields.  "Mercy  on  us!" 
cry  the  maids,  for  it  is  milking-time,  and  they  have 
to  fight  their  way  on  hands  and  knees  across  the 
yard  to  the  cowshed,  dragging  a  lantern  that  will 
go  out  and  a  milk-pail  that  won't  be  held.  And 
"Lord  preserve  us!"  mutter  the  old  wives  seated 
round  the  stove  within  doors — and  their  thought3 
are  far  away  in  the  north  with  the  Lofoten  fisher- 
men, out  at  sea,  maybe,  this  very  night. 

But  on  a  calm  spring  day,  the  fjord  just  steals 
in  smooth  and  shining  by  ness  and  bay.  And  at 
low  water  there  is  a  whole  wonderland  of  strange 
little  islands,  sand-banks,  and  weed-fringed  rocks 
left  high  and  dry,  with  clear  pools  between,  where 
bare-legged  urchins  splash  about,  and  tiny  flat- 
fish as  big  as  a  halfpenny  dart  away  to  every  side. 
The  air  is  filled  with  a  smell  of  salt  sea-water  and 

ii 


12  The  Great  Hunger 

warm,  wet  beach-waste,  and  the  sea-pie,  see-saw- 
ing about  on  a  big  stone  in  the  water,  lifts  his  red 
beak  cheerily  sunwards  and  pipes:  "Kluip,  kluipl 
the  spring  has  come  1 ' ' 

On  just  such  a  day,  two  boys  of  fourteen  or 
thereabouts  came  hurrying  out  from  one  of  the 
fishermen's  huts  down  towards  the  beach.  Boys 
are  never  so  busy  as  when  they  are  up  to  some 
piece  of  mischief,  and  evidently  the  pair  had  busi- 
ness of  this  sort  in  hand.  Peer  Troen,  fair-haired 
and  sallow-faced,  was  pushing  a  wheelbarrow ;  his 
companion,  Martin  Bruvold,  a  dark  youth  with 
freckles,  carried  a  tub.  And  both  talked  mysteri- 
ously in  whispers,  casting  anxious  glances  out 
over  the  water. 

Peer  Troen  was,  of  course,  the  ringleader.  That 
he  always  was:  the  forest  fire  of  last  year  was 
laid  at  his  door.  And  now  he  had  made  it  clear  to 
some  of  his  friends  that  boys  had  just  as  much 
right  to  lay  out  deep-sea  lines  as  men.  All  through 
the  winter  they  had  been  kept  at  grown-up  work, 
cutting  peat  and  carrying  wood ;  why  should  they 
be  left  now  to  fool  about  with  the  inshore  fishing, 
and  bring  home  nothing  better  than  flounders  and 
coal-fish  and  silly  codlings !  The  big  deep-sea  line 
they  were  forbidden  to  touch — that  was  so — but 
the  Lofoten  fishery  was  at  its  height,  and  none  of 
the  men  would  be  back  till  it  was  over.  So  the 
boys  had  baited  up  the  line  on  the  sly  down  at  the 
boathouse  the  day  before,  and  laid  it  out  across 
the  deepest  part  of  the  fjord. 


13 


Now  the  thing  about  a  deep-sea  line  is  that  it 
may  bring  to  the  surface  fish  so  big  and  so  fear- 
some that  the  like  has  never  been  seen  before. 
Yesterday,  however,  there  had  been  trouble  of  a 
different  sort.  To  their  dismay,  the  boys  had 
found  that  they  had  not  sinkers  enough  to  weight 
the  shore  end  of  the  line ;  and  it  looked  as  if  they 
might  have  to  give  up  the  whole  thing.  But  Peer, 
ever  ready,  had  hit  on  the  novel  idea  of  making 
one  end  fast  to  the  trunk  of  a  small  fir  growing  at 
the  outermost  point  of  the  ness,  and  carrying  the 
line  from  there  out  over  the  open  fjord.  Then  a 
stone  at  the  farther  end,  and  with  the  magic 
words,  "Fie,  fish!"  it  was  paid  out  overboard, 
vanishing  into  the  green  depths.  The  deed  was 
done.  True,  there  were  a  couple  of  hooks  dan- 
gling in  mid-air  at  the  shore  end,  between  the  tree 
and  the  water,  and,  while  they  might  serve  to  catch 
an  eider  duck,  or  a  guillemot,  if  any  one  should 
chance  to  come  rowing  past  in  the  dark  and  get 
hung  up — why,  the  boys  might  find  they  had  made 
a  human  catch.  No  wonder,  then,  that  they  whis- 
pered eagerly  and  hurried  down  to  the  boat. 

"Here  comes  Peter  Rb'nningen,"  cried  Martin 
suddenly. 

This  was  the  third  member  of  the  crew,  a  lanky 
youth  with  whitish  eyebrows  and  a  foolish  face. 
He  stammered,  and  made  a  queer  noise  when  he 
laughed:  " Chee-hee-hee. "  Twice  he  had  been 
turned  down  in  the  confirmation  classes ;  after  all, 
what  was  the  use  of  learning  lessons  out  of  a  book 


14  The  Great  Hunger 

when  nobody  ever  had  patience  to  wait  while  he 
said  them? 

Together  they  ran  the  boat  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  got  it  afloat,  and  scrambled  in,  with  much 
waving  of  patched  trouser  legs.  "Hi!"  cried  a 
voice  up  on  the  beach,  "let  me  come  too!" 

1 '  There 's  Klaus, ' '  said  Martin.  * '  Shall  we  take 
him  along?" 

"No,"  said  Peter  Ronningen. 

"Oh  yes,  let's,"  said  Peer. 

Klaus  Brock,  the  son  of  the  district  doctor,  was 
a  blue-eyed  youngster  in  knickerbockers  and  a 
sailor  blouse.  He  was  playing  truant,  no  doubt- 
Klaus  had  his  lessons  at  home  with  a  private 
tutor — and  would  certainly  get  a  thrashing  from 
his  father  when  he  got  home. 

"Hurry  up,"  called  Peer,  getting  out  an  oar. 
Klaus  clambered  in,  and  the  white-straked  four- 
oar  surged  across  the  bay,  rocking  a  little  as  the 
boys  pulled  out  of  stroke.  Martin  was  rowing  at 
the  bow,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Peer,  who  sat  in  the 
stern  in  command  with  his  eyes  dancing,  full  of 
great  things  to  be  done.  Martin,  poor  fellow,  was 
half  afraid  already;  he  never  could  understand 
why  Peer,  who  was  to  be  a  parson  when  he  grew 
up,  was  always  hitting  upon  things  to  do  that 
were  evidently  sinful  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord. 

Peer  was  a  town  boy,  who  had  been  put  out  to 
board  with  a  fisherman  in  the  village.  His  mother 
had  been  no  better  than  she  should  be,  so  people 
said,  but  she  was  dead  now,  and  the  father  at  any 


The  Great  Hunger  15 

rate  must  be  a  rich  gentleman,  for  he  sent  the 
boy  a  present  of  ten  whole  crowns  every  Christ- 
mas, so  that  Peer  always  had  money  in  his  pocket. 
Naturally,  then,  he  was  looked  up  to  by  the  other 
boys,  and  took  the  lead  in  all  things  as  a  chief" 
tain  by  right. 

The  boat  moved  on  past  the  grey  rocks,  the 
beach  and  the  huts  above  it  growing  blue  and  faint 
in  the  distance.  Up  among  the  distant  hills  a  red 
wooden  farm-house  on  its  white  foundation  wall 
stood  out  clear. 

Here  was  the  ness  at  last,  and  there  stood 
the  fir.  Peer  climbed  up  and  loosed  the  end  of 
the  line,  while  the  others  leaned  over  the  side, 
watching  the  cord  where  it  vanished  in  the  depths. 
What  would  it  bring  to  light  when  it  came  up  ? 

"Row!**  ordered  Peer,  and  began  hauling  in.  • 

The  boat  was  headed  straight  out  across  the 
fjord,  and  the  long  line  with  its  trailing  hooks 
hauled  in  and  coiled  up  neatly  in  the  bottom  of 
a  shallow  tub.  Peer's  heart  was  beating.  There 
came  a  tug — the  first — and  the  faint  shimmer  of 
a  fish  deep  down  in  the  water.  Pooh !  only  a  big 
cod.  Peer  heaved  it  in  with  a  careless  swing  over 
the  gunwale.  Next  came  a  ling — a  deep  water  fish 
at  any  rate  this  time.  Then  a  tusk,  and  another, 
and  another ;  these  would  please  the  women,  being 
good  eating,  and  perhaps  make  them  hold  their 
tongues  when  the  men  came  home.  Now  the  line 
jerks  heavily;  what  is  coming?  A  grey  shadow 
comes  in  sight.  "Here  with  the  gaff  1"  cries  Peer, 


16  The  Great  Hunger 

and  Peter  throws  it  across  to  him.  "What  is  it, 
what  is  it!"  shriek  the  other  three.  "Steady! 
don't  upset  the  boat;  a  catfish."  A  stroke  of  the 
gaff  over  the  side,  and  a  clumsy  grey  body  is 
heaved  into  the  boat,  where  it  rolls  about,  hissing 
and  biting  at  the  bottom-boards  and  baler,  the 
splinters  crackling  under  its  teeth.  "Mind, 
mind!"  cries  Klaus — he  was  always  nervous  in 
a  boat. 

But  Peer  was  hauling  in  again.  They  were 
nearly  half-way  across  the  fjord  by  now,  and  the 
line  came  up  from  mysterious  depths,  which  no 
fisherman  had  ever  sounded.  The  strain  on  Peer 
began  to  show  in  his  looks ;  the  others  sat  watch- 
ing his  face.  "Is  the  line  heavy?"  asked  Klaus. 
"Keep  still,  can't  you?"  put  in  Martin,  glancing 
along  the  slanting  line  to  where  it  vanished  far 
below.  Peer  was  still  hauling.  A  sense  of  some- 
thing uncanny  seemed  to  be  thrilling  up  into  his 
hands  from  the  deep  sea.  The  feel  of  the  line  was 
strange.  There  was  no  great  weight,  not  even  the 
clean  tug-tug  of  an  ordinary  fish;  it  was  as  if  a 
giant  hand  were  pulling  gently,  very  gently,  to 
draw  him  overboard  and  down  into  the  depths. 
Then  suddenly  a  violent  jerk  almost  dragged  him 
over  the  side. 

"Look  out!  "What  is  it?"  cried  the  three  to- 
gether. 

"Sit  down  in  the  boat,"  shouted  Peer.  And 
with  the  true  fisherman's  sense  of  discipline  they 
obeyed. 


IT 


Peer  was  gripping  the  line  firmly  with  one  hand, 
the  other  clutching  one  of  the  thwarts.  "Have 
we  another  gaff?"  he  jerked  out  breathlessly. 

" Here's  one."  Peter  Ronningen  pulled  out  a 
second  iron-hooked  cudgel. 

"You  take  it,  Martin,  and  stand  by.1' 

' '  But  what— what  is  it  I " 

"Don't  know  what  it  is.  But  it's  something 
big." 

"Cut  the  line,  and  row  for  your  lives  1"  wailed 
the  doctor's  son.  Strange  he  should  be  such  a 
coward  at  sea,  a  fellow  who'd  tackle  a  man  twice 
his  size  on  dry  land. 

Once  more  Peer  was  jerked  almost  overboard. 
He  thought  of  the  forest  fire  the  year  before — it 
would  never  do  to  have  another  such  mishap  on 
his  shoulders.  Suppose  the  great  monster  did 
come  up  and  capsize  them — they  were  ever  so  far 
from  land.  What  a  to  do  there  would  be  if  they 
were  all  drowned,  and  it  came  out  that  it  was  his 
fault.  Involuntarily  he  felt  for  his  knife  to  out  the 
line — then  thrust  it  back  again,  and  went  on  haul- 
ing. 

Here  it  comes — a  great  shadow  heaving  up 
through  the  water.  The  huge  beast  flinga  itself 
round,  sending  a  flurry  of  bubbles  to  the  surface. 
And  there! — a  gleam  of  white;  a  row  of  great 
white  teeth  on  the  underside.  Aha !  now  he  knows 
what  it  is!  The  Greenland  shark  is  the  fiercest 
monster  of  the  northern  seas,  quite  able  to  make 
short  work  of  a  few  boys  or  so. 


18  The  Great  Hunger 

"Steady  now,  Martin — ready  with  the  gaff.'* 

The  brute  was  wallowing  on  the  surface  now,  the 
water  boiling  around  him.  His  tail  lashed  the  sea 
to  foam,  a  big,  pointed  head  showed  up,  squirming 
under  the  hook.  "Now!"  cried  Peer,  and  two 
gaffs  struck  at  the  same  moment,  the  boat  heeled 
over,  letting  in  a  rush  of  water,  and  Klaus,  drop- 
ping his  oars,  sprang  into  the  bow,  with  a  cry  of 
"Jesus,  save  us!" 

Next  second  a  heavy  body,  big  as  a  grown  man, 
was  heaved  in  over  the  gunwale,  and  two  boys 
were  all  but  shot  out  the  other  way.  And  now 
the  fun  began.  The  boys  loosed  their  hold  of  the 
gaffs,  and  sprang  apart  to  give  the  creature  room. 
There  it  lay  raging,  the  great  black  beast  of  prey, 
with  its  sharp  threatening  snout  and  wicked  red 
eyes  ablaze.  The  strong  tail  lashed  out,  hurling 
oars  and  balers  overboard,  the  long  teeth  snapped 
at  the  bottom-boards  and  thwarts.  Now  and  again 
it  would  leap  high  up  in  the  air,  only  to  fall  back 
again,  writhing  furiously,  hissing  and  spitting  and 
frothing  at  the  mouth,  its  red  eyes  glaring  from 
one  to  another  of  the  terrified  captors,  as  if  say- 
ing: "Come  on — just  a  little  nearer!" 

Meanwhile,  Martin  Bruvold  was  in  terror  that 
the  shark  would  smash  the  boat  to  pieces.  He 
drew  his  knife  and  took  a  step  forward — a  flash  in 
the  air,  and  the  steel  went  in  deep  between  the 
back  fins,  sending  up  a  spurt  of  blood.  "Look 
out!"  cried  the  others,  but  Martin  had  already 
sprung  back  out  of  reach  of  the  black  tail.  And 


The  Great  Hunger  19 

now  the  dance  of  death  began  anew.  The  knife 
was  fixed  to  the  grip  in  the  creature's  back;  one 
gaff  had  buried  its  hook  between  the  eyes,  and 
another  hung  on  the  flank — the  wooden  shafts 
were  flung  this  way  and  that  at  every  bound,  and 
the  boat's  frame  shook  and  groaned  under  the 
blows. 

"She'll  smash  the  boat  and  we'll  go  to  the  bot- 
tom," cried  Peer. 

And  now  his  knife  flashed  out  and  sent  a  stream 
of  blood  spouting  from  between  the  shoulders,  but 
the  blow  cost  him  his  foothold — and  in  a  moment 
the  two  bodies  were  rolling  over  and  over  together 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"Oh,  Lord  Jesus!"  shrieked  Klaus,  clinging  to 
thestempost.  " She '11  kill  him !  She '11  kill  him!" 

Peer  was  half  up  now,  on  his  knees,  but  as  he 
reached  out  a  hand  to  grasp  the  side,  the  brute's 
jaws  seized  on  his  arm.  The  boy's  face  was  con- 
torted with  pain — another  moment  and  the  sharp 
teeth  would  have  bitten  through,  when,  swift  as 
thought,  Peter  Ronningen  dropped  his  oars  and 
sent  his  knife  straight  in  between  the  beast's  eyes. 
The  blade  pierced  through  to  the  brain,  and  the 
grip  of  the  teeth  relaxed. 

"C-c-cursed  d-d-devil!"  stammered  Peter,  as  he 
scrambled  back  to  his  oars.  Another  moment,  and 
Peer  had  dragged  himself  clear  and  was  kneeling 
by  the  forward  thwart,  holding  the  ragged  sleeve 
of  his  wounded  arm,  while  the  blood  trickled 
through  his  fingers. 


20  The  Great  Hunger 

"When  at  last  they  were  pulling  homeward,  the 
little  boat  overloaded  with  the  weight  of  the  great 
carcase,  all  at  once  they  stopped  rowing. 

"  Where  is  Klaus  ?"  asked  Peer — for  the  doc- 
tor's son  was  gone  from  where  he  had  sat,  clinging 
to  the  stem. 

"Why — there  he  is — in  the  bottom!" 

There  lay  the  big  lout  of  fifteen,  who  already 
boasted  of  his  love-affairs,  learned  German,  and 
was  to  be  a  gentleman  like  his  father — there  he  lay 
on  the  bottom-boards  in  the  bow  in  a  dead  faint. 

The  others  were  frightened  at  first,  but  Peer, 
who  was  sitting  washing  his  wounded  arm,  took 
a  dipper  full  of  water  and  flung  it  in  the  uncon- 
scious one's  face.  The  next  instant  Klaus  had 
started  up  sitting,  caught  wildly  at  the  gunwale, 
and  shrieked  out: 

"Cut  the  line,  and  row  for  your  lives  I" 

A  roar  of  laughter  went  up  from  the  rest ;  they 
dropped  their  oars  and  sat  doubled  up  and  gasp- 
ing. But  on  the  beach,  before  going  home,  they 
agreed  to  say  nothing  about  Klaus 's  fainting  fit. 
And  for  weeks  afterwards  the  four  scamps'  ex- 
ploit was  the  talk  of  the  village,  so  that  they  felt 
there  was  not  much  fear  of  their  getting  the 
thrashing  they  deserved  when  the  men  came  home. 


Chapter  II 

WHEN  Peer,  as  quite  a  little  fellow,  had  been 
sent  to  live  with  the  old  couple  at  Troen,  he  had 
already  passed  several  times  from  one  adopted 
home  to  another,  though  this  he  did  not  remember. 
He  was  one  of  the  madcaps  of  the  village  now, 
but  it  was  not  long  since  he  had  been  a  solitary 
child,  moping  apart  from  the  rest.  Why  did  peo- 
ple always  say  "Poor  child!"  whenever  they  were 
speaking  about  his  real  mother?  Why  did  they 
do  it?  Why,  even  Peter  Ronningen,  when  he  was 
angry,  would  stammer  out:  "You  ba-ba-bastard ! " 
But  Peer  called  the  pock-marked  good-wife  at 
Troen  "mother"  and  her  bandy-legged  husband 
"father,"  and  lent  the  old  man  a  hand  wherever 
he  was  wanted — in  the  smithy  or  in  the  boats  at 
the  fishing. 

His  childhood  was  passed  among  folk  who 
counted  it  sinful  to  smile,  and  whose  minds  were 
gloomy  as  the  grey  sea-fog  with  poverty,  psalm- 
singing,  and  the  fear  of  hell. 

One  day,  coming  home  from  his  work  at  the  peat 
bog,  he  found  the  elders  snuffing  and  sighing  over 
their  afternoon  meal.  Peer  wiped  the  sweat  from 
his  forehead,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

The  eldest  son  shoved  a  spoonful  of  porridge 

21 


22  The  Great  Hunger 

into  his  mouth,  wiped  his  eyes,  swallowed,  and 
said:  " Poor  Peer!" 

"Aye,  poor  little  chap,"  sighed  the  old  man, 
thrusting  his  horn  spoon  into  a  crack  in  the  wall 
that  served  as  a  rack. 

"Neither  father  nor  mother  now,"  whimpered 
the  eldest  daughter,  looking  over  to  the  window. 

"Mother?    Is  she " 

"Ay,  dearie,  yes,"  sighed  the  old  woman. 
"She's  gone  for  sure — gone  to  meet  her  Judge." 

Later,  as  the  day  went  on,  Peer  tried  to  cry 
too.  The  worst  thing  of  all  was  that  every  one  in 
the  house  seemed  so  perfectly  certain  where  his 
mother  had  gone  to.  And  to  heaven  it  certainly 
was  not.  But  how  could  they  be  so  sure  about  it  ? 

Peer  had  seen  her  only  once,  one  summer's  day 
when  she  had  come  out  to  see  the  place.  She  wore 
a  light  dress  and  a  big  straw  hat,  and  he  thought 
he  had  never  seen  anything  so  beautiful  before. 
She  made  no  secret  of  it  among  the  neighbours 
that  Peer  was  not  her  only  child ;  there  was  a  little 
girl,  too,  named  Louise,  who  was  with  some  folks 
away  up  in  the  inland  parishes.  She  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  told  risky  stories  and  sang  songs  by 
no  means  sacred.  The  old  people  shook  their 
heads  over  her — the  younger  ones  watched  her 
with  sidelong  glances.  And  when  she  left,  she 
kissed  Peer,  and  turned  round  more  than  once  to 
look  back  at  him,  flushed  under  her  big  hat,  and 
smiling;  and  it  seemed  to  Peer  that  she  must 
surely  be  the  loveliest  creature  in  all  the  world. 


The  Great  Hunger 


But  now — now  she  had  gone  to  a  place  where 
the  ungodly  dwell  in  such  frightful  torment,  and 
no  hope  of  salvation  for  her  through  all  eternity — 
and  Peer  all  the  while  could  only  think  of  her  in 
a  light  dress  and  a  big  straw  hat,  all  song  and 
happy  laughter. 

Then  came  the  question:  Who  was  to  pay  for 
the  boy  now?  True,  his  baptismal  certificate  said 
that  he  had  a  father — his  name  was  Holm,  and  he 
lived  in  Christiania — but,  from  what  the  mother 
had  said,  it  was  understood  that  he  had  disap- 
peared long  ago.  What  was  to  be  done  with  the 
boy? 

Never  till  now  had  Peer  rightly  understood  that 
he  was  a  stranger  here,  for  all  that  he  called  the 
old  couple  father  and  mother. 

He  lay  awake  night  after  night  up  in  the  loft, 
listening  to  the  talk  about  him  going  on  in  the 
room  below — the  good-wife  crying  and  saying: 
"No,  no!",  the  others  saying  how  hard  the  times 
were,  and  that  Peer  was  quite  old  enough  now  to 
be  put  to  service  as  a  goat-herd  on  some  up-coun- 
try farm. 

Then  Peer  would  draw  the  skin-rug  up  over  his 
head.  But  often,  when  one  of  the  elders  chanced 
to  be  awake  at  night,  he  could  hear  some  one  in  the 
loft  sobbing  in  his  sleep.  In  the  daytime  he  took 
up  as  little  room  as  he  could  at  the  table,  and 
ate  as  little  as  humanly  possible ;  but  every  morn- 
ing he  woke  up  in  fear  that  to-day — to-day  he 


24  The  Great  Hunger 

would  have  to  bid  the  old  foster-mother  farewell 
and  go  out  among  strangers. 

Then  something  new  and  unheard  of  plumped 
down  into  the  little  cottage  by  the  fjord. 

There  came  a  registered  letter  with  great  dabs 
of  sealing-wax  all  over  it,  and  a  handwriting  so 
gentlemanly  as  to  be  almost  unreadable.  Every 
one  crowded  round  the  eldest  son  to  see  it  opened 
— and  out  fell  five  ten-crown  notes.  "  Mercy  on 
us !"  they  cried  in  amazement,  and  "Can  it  be  for 
us  ? "  The  next  thing  was  to  puzzle  out  what  was 
written  in  the  letter.  And  who  should  that  turn 
out  to  be  from  but — no  other  than  Peer's  father, 
though  he  did  not  say  it  in  so  many  words.  "Be 
good  to  the  boy,"  the  letter  said.  "You  will  re- 
ceive fifty  crowns  from  me  every  half-year.  See 
that  he  gets  plenty  to  eat  and  goes  dry  and  well 
shod.  Faithfully  your,  P.  Holm,  Captain." 

"Why,  Peer — he's — he's Your  father's  a 

captain,  an  officer,"  stammered  the  eldest  girl,  and 
fell  back  a  step  to  stare  at  the  boy. 

6 'And  we're  to  get  twice  as  much  for  him  as  be- 
fore," said  the  son,  holding  the  notes  fast  and 
gazing  up  at  the  ceiling,  as  if  he  were  informing 
Heaven  of  the  fact. 

But  the  old  wife  was  thinking  of  something  else 
as  she  folded  her  hands  in  thankfulness — now  she 
needn't  lose  the  boy. 

"Properly  fed!"  No  need  to  fear  for  that. 
Peer  had  treacle  with  his  porridge  that  very  day, 
though  it  was  only  a  week-day.  And  the  eldest  son 


The  Great  Himger  25 

gave  him  a  pair  of  stockings,  and  made  him  sit 
down  and  put  them  on  then  and  there;  and  the 
same  night,  when  he  went  to  bed,  the  eldest  girl 
came  and  tucked  him  up  in  a  new  skin-rug,  not 
quite  so  hairless  as  the  old  one.  His  father  a  cap- 
tain !  It  seemed  too  wonderful  to  be  true. 

From  that  day  times  were  changed  for  Peer. 
People  looked  at  him  with  very  different  eyes.  No 
one  said  ' '  Poor  boy ' '  of  him  now.  The  other  boys 
left  off  calling  him  bad  names ;  the  grown-ups  said 
he  had  a  future  before  him.  "You'll  see,"  they 
would  say,  "that  father  of  yours  will  get  you  on; 
you'll  be  a  parson  yet,  ay,  maybe  a  bishop,  too." 
At  Christmas,  there  came  a  ten-crown  note  all  for 
himself,  to  do  just  as  he  liked  with.  Peer  changed 
it  into  silver,  so  that  his  purse  was  near  bursting 
with  prosperity.  No  wonder  he  began  to  go  about 
with  his  nose  in  the  air,  and  play  the  little  prince 
and  chieftain  among  the  boys.  Even  Klaus  Brock, 
the  doctor's  son,  made  up  to  him,  and  taught  him 
to  play  cards.  But — "You  surely  don't  mean  to 
go  and  be  a  parson,"  he  would  say. 

For  all  this,  no  one  could  say  that  Peer  was  too 
proud  to  help  with  the  fishing,  or  make  himself 
useful  in  the  smithy.  But  when  the  sparks  flew 
showering  from  the  glowing  iron,  he  could  not  help 
seeing  visions  of  his  own — visions  that  flew  out 
into  the  future.  Aye,  he  would  be  a  priest.  He 
might  be  a  sinner  now,  and  a  wild  young  scamp ; 
he  certainly  did  curse  and  swear  like  a  trooper  at 
times,  if  only  to  show  the  other  boys  that  it  was 


26  The  Great  Hunger 

all  nonsense  about  the  earth  opening  and  swallow- 
ing you  up.  But  a  priest  he  would  be,  all  the  same. 
None  of  your  parsons  with  spectacles  and  a  pot 
belly:  no,  but  a  sort  of  heavenly  messenger  with 
snowy  white  robes  and  a  face  of  glory.  Perhaps 
some  day  he  might  even  come  so  far  that  he  could 
go  down  into  that  place  of  torment  where  his 
mother  lay,  and  bring  her  up  again,  up  to  salva- 
tion. And  when,  in  autumn  evenings,  he  stood 
outside  his  palace,  a  white-haired  bishop,  he  would 
lift  up  his  finger,  and  all  the  stars  should  break 
into  song. 

Clang,  clang,  sang  the  anvil  under  the  hammer's 
beat. 

In  the  still  summer  evenings  a  troop  of  boys  go 
climbing  up  the  naked  slopes  towards  the  high 
wooded  ranges  to  fetch  home  the  cows  for  the 
milking.  The  higher  they  climb,  the  farther  and 
farther  their  sight  can  travel  out  over  the  sea. 
And  an  hour  or  two  later,  as  the  sun  goes  down, 
here  comes  a  long  string  of  red-flanked  cattle  trail- 
ing down,  with  a  faint  jangle  of  bells,  over  the  far- 
off  ridges.  The  boys  halloo  them  on — "Ohoo-oo- 
oo!" — and  swing  their  ringed  rowan  staves,  and 
spit  red  juice  of  the  alder  bark  that  they  are  chew- 
ing as  men  chew  tobacco.  Far  below  them  they 
see  the  farm  lands,  grey  in  shadow,  and,  beyond, 
the  waters  of  the  fjord,  yellow  in  the  evening  light, 
a  mirror  where  red  clouds  and  white  sails  and  hills 
of  liquid  blue  are  shining.  And  away  out  on  the 


The  Great  Hunger  27 

farthest  headland,  the  lonely  star  of  the  coast  light 
over  the  grey  sea. 

On  such  an  evening  Peer  came  down  from  the 
hills  just  in  time  to  see  a  gentleman  in  a  carriole 
turn  off  from  the  highway  and  take  the  by-road 
down  towards  Troen.  The  horse  balked  suddenly 
at  a  small  bridge,  and  when  the  driver  reined  him 
in  and  gave  him  a  cut  with  his  whip,  the  beast 
reared,  swung  about,  and  sent  the  cart  fairly 
dancing  round  on  its  high  wheels.  ' '  Oh,  well,  then, 
I'll  have  to  walk,"  cried  the  gentleman  angrily, 
and,  flinging  the  reins  to  the  lad  behind  him,  he 
jumped  down.  Just  at  this  moment  Peer  came  up. 

"Here,  boy,"  began  the  traveller,  "just  take 
this  bag,  will  you?  And "  He  broke  off  sud- 
denly, took  a  step  backward,  and  looked  hard  at 

the  boy.  "What — surely  it  can't  be Is  it 

you,  Peer!" 

"Ye-es,"  said  Peer,  gaping  a  little,  and  took 
off  his  cap. 

"Well,  now,  that's  funny.  My  name  is  Holm. 
Well,  well— well,  well!" 

The  lad  in  the  cart  had  driven  off,  and  the  gen- 
tleman from  the  city  and  the  pale  country  boy 
with  the  patched  trousers  stood  looking  at  each 
other. 

The  newcomer  was  a  man  of  fifty  or  so,  but  still 
straight  and  active,  though  his  hair  and  close- 
trimmed  beard  were  sprinkled  with  grey.  His 
eyes  twinkled  gaily  under  the  brim  of  his  black 
felt  hat;  his  long  overcoat  was  open,  showing  a 


28  The  Great  Hwiger 

gold  chain  across  his  waistcoat.  With  a  pair  of 
gloves  and  an  umbrella  in  one  hand,  a  light  travel- 
ling bag  in  the  other,  and  his  beautifully  polished 
shoes — a  grand  gentleman,  thought  Peer,  if  ever 
there  was  one.  And  this  was  his  father ! 

"So  that's  how  you  look,  my  boyf  Not  very 
big  for  your  age — nearly  sixteen  now,  aren't  you? 
Do  they  give  you  enough  to  eat?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peer,  with  conviction. 

The  pair  walked  down  together,  towards  the 
grey  cottage  by  the  fjord.  Suddenly  the  man 
stopped,  and  looked  at  it  through  half -shut  eyes. 

"Is  that  where  you've  been  living  all  these 
years?" 

"Yes." 

* '  In  that  little  hut  there  ? ' ' 

"Yes.    That 's  the  place— Troen  they  call  it. ' ' 

"Why,  that  wall  there  bulges  so,  I  should  think 
the  whole  affair  would  collapse  soon." 

Peer  tried  to  laugh  at  this,  but  felt  something 
like  a  lump  in  his  throat.  It  hurt  to  hear  fine  folks 
talk  like  that  of  father  and  mother's  little  house. 

There  was  a  great  flurry  when  the  strange  gen- 
tleman appeared  in  the  doorway.  The  old  wife 
was  kneading  away  at  the  dough  for  a  cake,  the 
front  of  her  afl.  white  with  flour;  the  old  man  sat 
with  his  spectacles  on,  patching  a  shoe,  and  the 
two  girls  sprang  up  from  their  spinning  wheels. 
"Well,  here  I  am.  My  name's  Holm,"  said  the 
traveller,  looking  round  and  smiling.  "Mercy  on 


The  Great  Hunger  29 

us!  the  Captain  his  own  self,"  murmured  the  old 
woman,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  skirt. 

He  was  an  affable  gentleman,  and  soon  set  them 
all  at  their  ease.  He  sat  down  in  the  seat  of 
honour,  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  table, 
and  talking  easily  as  if  quite  at  home.  One  of  the 
girls  had  been  in  service  for  a  while  in  a  Consul's 
family  in  the  town,  and  knew  the  ways  of  gentle- 
folk, and  she  fetched  a  bowl  of  milk  and  offered 
it  with  a  curtsy  and  a:  "Will  the  Captain  please 
to  take  some  milk?"  "Thanks,  thanks,"  said  the 
visitor.  "And  what  is  your  name,  my  dear! 
Come,  there's  nothing  to  blush  about.  Nicotine? 
First-rate!  And  you?  Lusiana?  That's  right." 
He  looked  at  the  red-rimmed  basin,  and,  taking 
it  up,  all  but  emptied  it  at  a  draught,  then,  wiping 
his  beard,  took  breath.  "Phu! — that  was  good. 
Well,  so  here  I  am."  And  he  looked  around  the 
room  and  at  each  of  them  in  turn,  and  smiled, 
and  drummed  with  his  fingers,  and  said,  "Well, 
well — well,  well,"  and  seemed  much  amused  with 
everything  in  general.  "By  the  way,  Nicotine," 
he  said  suddenly,  "since  you're  so  well  up  in  titles, 
I'm  not  *  Cap  tain'  any  more  now;  they've  sent  me 
up  this  way  as  Lieutenant-Colonel,  and  my  wife 
has  just  had  a  house  left  her  in  your  town  here, 
so  we  may  be  coming  to  settle  down  in  these 
parts.  And  perhaps  you'd  better  send  letters  to 
me  through  a  friend  in  future.  But  we  can  talk 
about  all  that  by  and  by.  Well,  well — well,  well." 
And  all  the  time  he  was  drinnming  with  his  fingers 


30  The  Great  Hunger, 

on  the  table  and  smiling.  Peer  noticed  that  h6 
wore  gold  sleeve-links  and  a  fine  gold  stud  in  his 
broad  white  shirt-front. 

And  then  a  little  packet  was  produced.  "Hi, 
Peer,  come  and  look;  here's  something  for  you." 
And  the  "something"  was  nothing  less  than  a  real 
silver  watch — and  Peer  was  quite  unhappy  for  the 
moment  because  he  couldn't  dash  off  at  once  and 
show  it  to  all  the  other  boys.  "There's  a  father 
for  you,"  said  the  old  wife,  clapping  her  hands, 
and  almost  in  tears.  But  the  visitor  patted  her  on 
the  shoulder.  "Father!  father?  H'm— that's 
not  a  thing  any  one  can  be  so  sure  about.  Haha- 
ha!"  And  "hahaha"  echoed  the  old  man,  still 
sitting  with  the  awl  in  his  hand.  This  was  the  sort 
of  joke  he  could  appreciate. 

Then  the  visitor  went  out  and  strolled  about  the 
place,  with  his  hands  under  his  coat  tails,  and 
looked  at  the  sky,  and  the  fjord,  and  murmured, 
"Well,  well — well,  well,"  and  Peer  followed  him 
about  all  the  while,  and  gazed  at  him  as  he  might 
have  gazed  at  a  star.  He  was  to  sleep  in  a  neigh- 
bour's house,  where  there  was  a  room  that  had  a 
bed  with  sheets  on  it,  and  Peer  went  across  with 
him  and  carried  his  bag.  It  was  Martin  Bruvold's 
parents  who  were  to  house  the  traveller,  and  peo- 
ple stood  round  staring  at  the  place.  Martin  him- 
self was  waiting  outside.  '  *  This  a  friend  of  yours, 
Peer?  Here,  then,  my  boy,  here's  something  to 
buy  a  big  farm  with."  This  time  it  was  a  five- 
crown  note,  and  Martin  stood  fingering  it,  hardly 


The  Great  Hunger  31 

able  to  believe  his  eyes.  Peer's  father  was  some- 
thing like  a  father. 

It  was  a  fine  thing,  too,  to  see  a  grand  gentleman 
undress.  "I'll  have  things  like  that  some  day," 
thought  Peer,  watching  each  new  wonder  that 
came  out  of  the  bag.  There  was  a  silver-backed 
brush,  that  he  brushed  his  hair  and  beard  with, 
walking  up  and  down  in  his  underclothes  and  hum- 
ming to  himself.  And  then  there  was  another 
shirt,  with  red  stripes  round  the  collar,  just  to 
wear  in  bed.  Peer  nodded  to  himself,  taking 
it  all  in.  And  when  the  stranger  was  in  bed 
he  took  out  a  flask  with  a  silver  cork,  that  screwed 
off  and  turned  into  a  cup,  and  had  a  dram  for  a 
nightcap;  and  then  he  reached  for  a  long  pipe 
with  a  beaded  cord,  and  when  it  was  drawing  well 
he  stretched  himself  out  comfortably  and  smiled 
at  Peer. 

"Well,  now,  my  boy — are  you  getting  on  well 
at  school?" 

Peer  put  his  hands  behind  him  and  set  one  foot 
forward.  "Yes — he  says  so — teacher  does." 

"How  much  is  twelve  times  twelve?" 

That  was  a  stumper!  Peer  hadn't  got  beyond 
ten  times  ten. 

"Do  they  teach  you  gymnastics  at  the  school?" 

"Gym ?    What's  that?" 

"Jumping  and  vaulting  and  climbing  ropes  and 
drilling  in  squads — what?" 

"But  isn't  it— isn't  that  wicked?" 

"Wicked!    Hahaha!    Wicked,  did  you  say?    So 


32  The  Great  Hunger 

that's  the  way  they  look  at  things  here,  is  it!  Well, 
well — well,  well !  Hahaha !  Hand  me  that  match- 
box, my  boy.  H  'm ! "  He  puffed  away  for  a  while 
in  silence.  Then,  suddenly : 

"See  here,  boy.  Did  you  know  you'd  a  little 
sister!" 

"Yes,  I  know." 

* '  Half -sister,  that  is  to  say.  I  didn't  quite  know 
how  it  was  myself.  But  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  my 
boy,  that  I  paid  the  same  for  you  all  along,  the 
same  as  now.  Only  I  sent  the  money  by  your 
mother,  and  she — well,  she,  poor  girl,  had  another 
one  to  look  after,  and  no  father  to  pay  for  it.  So 
she  made  my  money  do  for  both.  Hahaha !  Well, 
poor  girl,  we  can't  blame  her  for  that.  Anyhow, 
we'll  have  to  look  after  that  little  half-sister  of 
yours  now,  I  suppose,  till  she  grows  up.  Don't 
you  think  so  yourself!" 

Peer  felt  the  tears  coming.  Think  so ! — indeed 
he  did. 

Next  day  Peer's  father  went  away.  He  stood 
there,  ready  to  start,  in  the  living-room  at  Troen, 
stiff  felt  hat  and  overcoat  and  all,  and  said,  in  a 
tone  like  the  sheriff's  when  he  gives  out  a  public 
notice  at  the  church  door: 

"And,  by  the  way,  you're  to  have  the  boy  con- 
firmed this  year." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure  we  will,"  the  old  mother  has- 
tened to  say. 

"Then  I  wish  him  to  be  properly  dressed,  like 
the  best  of  the  other  youngsters.  And  there's  fifty 


The  Great  Hunger 


crowns  for  him  to  give  the  school-teacher  and  the 
parson  as  a  parting  gift."  He  handed  over  some 
more  notes. 

"Afterwards,"  he  went  on,  "I  mean,  of  course, 
to  look  after  him  until  he  can  make  his  own  way 
in  a  respectable  position.  But  first  we  must  see 
what  he  has  a  turn  for,  and  what  he'd  like  to  be 
himself.  He  'd  better  come  to  town  and  talk  it  over 
with  me — but  I'll  write  and  arrange  all  that  after 
he's  confirmed.  Then  in  case  anything  unexpected 
should  happen  to  me,  there's  some  money  laid  by 
for  him  in  a  savings  bank  account;  he  can  apply 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  who  knows  all  about  it.  "Well, 
good-bye,  and  very  many  thanks!" 

And  the  great  man  smiled  to  right  and  left,  and 
shook  them  all  by  the  hand,  and  waved  his  hat  and 
was  gone. 

For  the  next  few  days  Peer  walked  on  air,  and 
found  it  hard  to  keep  his  footing  at  all  on  the 
common  earth.  People  were  for  ever  filling  his 
head  with  talk  about  that  savings  bank  account — 
it  might  be  only  a  few  thousands  of  crowns — but 
then  again,  it  might  run  up  to  a  million.  A  million ! 
and  here  he  was,  eating  herrings  for  dinner,  and 
talking  to  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  just  like  any  one 
else.  A  million  crowns  I 

Late  in  the  autumn  came  the  confirmation,  and 
the  old  wooden  church,  with  its  tarred  walls,  nes- 
tled among  its  mighty  tree-tops,  sent  its  chimes 
ringing  and  ringing  out  into  the  blue  autumn  air. 
It  seemed  to  Peer  like  some  kindly  old  grand- 


34  The  Great  Hunger 

mother,  calling  so  lovingly:  "Come,  oome — old 
and  young — old  and  young — from  fjord  and  val- 
ley— northways  and  southways ;  come,  come — this 
day  of  all  days — this  day  of  all  days — come,  come, 
come ! ' '  So  it  had  stood,  ringing  out  the  chimes 
for  one  generation  after  another  through  hundreds 
of  years,  and  now  it  is  calling  to  us.  And  the  young 
folks  are  there,  looking  at  one  another  in  their 
new  clothes,  and  blowing  their  noses  on  clean 
white  handkerchiefs,  so  carefully  folded.  There 
comes  Peter  Bonningen,  passed  by  good  luck  this 
year,  but  forced  to  turn  out  in  a  jacket  borrowed 
from  Peer,  as  the  tailor  wasn't  ready  with  his 
own  new  things.  The  boys  say  "how-do-you-do" 
and  try  to  smile  like  grown-up  folks.  One  or  two 
of  them  may  have  some  little  account  dating  from 
old  school-fights  waiting  to  be  settled — but,  never 
mind — just  as  well  to  forget  old  scores  now.  Peer 
caught  sight  of  Johan  Koja,  who  stole  a  pencil 
from  him  last  summer,  but,  after  all,  even  that 
didn't  seem  worth  making  a  fuss  about.  "Well, 
howVe  you  been  getting  on  since  last  summer?" 
they  ask  each  other,  as  they  move  together  up  the 
stone  steps  to  the  big  church  door,  through  which 
the  peal  of  the  organ  comes  rolling  out  to  meet 
them. 

How  good  it  seems,  and  how  kind,  the  little 
church,  where  all  you  see  bids  you  welcome! 
Through  the  stained-glass  windows  with  their  tiny 
leaded  panes  falls  a  light  so  soft  that  even  poor 
•ugly  faces  seem  beautiful.  The  organ  tones  are 


The  Great  Hunger  35 

the  very  light  itself  turned  into  sweet  sound.  On 
one  side  of  the  nave  you  can  see  all  the  boys' 
heads,  sleek  with  water;  on  the  other  the  little 
mothers  to  be,  in  grown-up  dress  to-day  for  the 
first  time,  kerchief  on  head  and  hymn-book  in 
hand,  and  with  careful  faces.  And  now  they  all 
sing.  The  elder  folks  have  taken  their  places 
farther  back  to-day,  but  they  join  in,  looking  up 
now  and  again  from  the  book  to  those  young  heads 
in  front,  and  wondering  how  they  will  fare  in  life. 
And  the  young  folk  themselves  are  thinking  as 
they  sing, '  *  To-day  is  the  beginning  of  new  things. 
Play  and  frolic  are  over  and  done  with;  from  to- 
day we're  grown-up."  But  the  church  and  all  in 
it  seemed  to  say:  "If  ever  you  are  in  heavy 
trouble,  come  hither  to  me."  Just  look  at  that 
altar-piece  there — the  wood-carvings  are  a  whole 
Bible  in  themselves — but  Moses  with  the  Tables 
of  the  Law  is  gentle  of  face  to-day;  you  can  see 
he  means  no  harm  after  all.  St.  Peter,  with  the 
keys,  pointing  upwards,  looks  like  a  kind  old  uncle, 
bringing  something  good  home  from  market.  And 
then  the  angels  on  the  walls,  pictured  or  carved 
in  wood,  have  borrowed  the  voice  of  the  organ  and 
the  tones  of  the  hymn,  and  they  widen  out  the 
vaulted  roof  into  the  dome  of  heaven ;  while  light 
and  song  and  worshippers  melt  together  and  soar 
upwards  toward  the  infinite  spaces. 

Peer  was  thinking  all  the  time:  I  don't  care  if 
I'm  rich  as  rich,  I  will  be  a  priest.  And  then  per- 
haps with  all  my  money  I  can  build  a  church 


36  The  Great  Hunger 

that  no  one  ever  saw  the  like  of.  And  the  first 
couple  I'll  marry  there  shall  be  Martin  Bruvold 
and  little  sister  Louise — if  only  he'll  have  her. 
Just  wait  and  see ! 

A  few  days  later  he  wrote  to  his  father,  asking 
if  he  might  come  into  town  now  and  go  to  school. 
A  long  time  passed,  and  then  at  last  a  letter  came 
in  a  strange  hand-writing,  and  all  the  grown  folks 
at  Troen  came  together  again  to  read  it.  But 
what  was  their  amazement  when  they  read : 

"You  will  possibly  have  learned  by  now  from 
the  newspapers  that  your  benefactor,  Colonel 
Holm,  has  met  his  death  by  a  fall  from  a  horse.  I 
must  therefore  request  you  to  call  on  me  person- 
ally at  your  earliest  convenience,  as  I  have  several 
matters  to  settle  with  you.  Yours  faithfully,  J. 
Grundt,  Senior  Master." 

They  stood  and  looked  at  one  another. 

Peer  was  crying — chiefly,  it  must  be  admitted, 
at  the  thought  of  having  to  bid  good-bye  to  all 
the  Troen  folks  and  the  two  cows,  and  the  calf, 
and  the  grey  cat.  He  might  have  to  go  right  on 
to  Christiania,  no  later  than  to-morrow — to  go  to 
school  there ;  and  when  he  came  back — why,  very 
likely  the  old  mother  might  not  be  there  any 
more. 

So  all  three  of  them  were  heavy-hearted,  when 
the  pock-marked  good-wife,  and  the  bow-legged 
old  man,  came  down  with  him  to  the  pier.  And 
soon  he  was  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  fjord 
steamer,  gazing  at  the  two  figures  growing  smaller 


The  Great  Hunger  37 

and  smaller  on  the  shore.  And  then  one  hut  after 
another  in  the  little  hamlet  disappeared  behind  the 
ness — Troen  itself  was  gone  now — and  the  hills 
and  the  woods  where  he  had  cut  ring  staves  and 
searched  for  stray  cattle — swiftly  all  known  things 
drew  away  and  vanished,  until  at  last  the  whole 
parish  was  gone,  and  his  childhood  over. 


Chapter  III 

As  evening  fell,  he  saw  a  multitude  of  lights 
spread  out  on  every  side  far  ahead  in  the  darkness. 
And  next,  with  his  little  wooden  chest  on  his  shoul- 
der, he  was  finding  his  way  up  through  the  streets 
by  the  quay  to  a  lodging-house  for  country  folk, 
which  he  knew  from  former  visits,  when  he  had 
come  to  the  town  with  the  Lofoten  boats. 

Next  morning,  clad  in  his  country  homespun, 
he  marched  up  along  River  Street,  over  the  bridge, 
and  up  the  hill  to  the  villa  quarter,  where  he  had 
to  ask  the  way.  At  last  he  arrived  outside  a  white- 
painted  wooden  house  standing  back  in  a  garden. 
Here  was  the  place — the  place  where  his  fate  was 
to  be  decided.  After  the  country  fashion  he 
walked  in  at  the  kitchen  door. 

A  stout  servant  maid  in  a  big  white  apron  was 
rattling  the  rings  of  the  kitchen  range  into  place ; 
there  was  a  pleasing  smell  of  coffee  and  good 
things  to  eat.  Suddenly  a  door  opened,  and  a 
figure  in  a  dressing-gown  appeared — a  tall  red- 
haired  man  with  gold  spectacles  astride  on  a  long 
red  nose,  his  thick  hair  and  scrubby  little  mous- 
taches touched  with  grey.  He  gasped  once  or  twice 
and  then  started  sneezing — hoc-hoc-put-putsch ! — 
wiped  his  nose  with  a  large  pocket-handkerchief, 
and  grumbled  out:  "Ugh! — this  wretched  cold — 

38 


The  Great  Hunger  39 

can't  get  rid  of  it.  How  about  my  socks,  Bertha, 
my  good  girl;  do  you  think  they  are  quite  dry 
now?" 

"I've  had  them  hung  up  ever  since  I  lit  the 
fire  this  morning,"  said  the  girl,  tossing  her 
head. 

"But  who  is  this  young  gentleman,  may  I  ask?" 
The  gold  spectacles  were  turned  full  on  Peer,  who 
rose  and  bowed. 

"Said  he  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  sir,"  put  in 
the  maid. 

"Ah.  From  the  country,  I  see.  Have  you  any- 
thing to  sell,  my  lad?" 

"No,"  said  Peer.    He  had  had  a  letter.  .  .  . 

The  red  head  seemed  positively  frightened  at 
this — and  the  dressing-gown  faltered  backwards, 
as  if  to  find  support.  He  cast  a  hurried  glance  at 
the  girl,  and  then  beckoned  with  a  long  fore-finger 
to  Peer.  "Yes,  yes,  perfectly  so.  Be  so  good  as 
to  come  this  way,  my  lad." 

Peer  found  himself  in  a  room  with  rows  of  books 
all  round  the  walls,  and  a  big  writing-table  in  the 
centre.  "Sit  down,  my  boy."  The  schoolmaster 
went  and  picked  out  a  long  pipe,  and  filled  it,  clear- 
ing his  throat  nervously,  with  an  occasional  glance 
at  the  boy.  "H'm — so  this  is  you.  This  is  Peer — 
h'm."  He  lit  his  pipe  and  puffed  a  little,  found 
himself  again  obliged  to  sneeze — but  at  last  set- 
tled down  in  a  chair  at  the  writing-table,  stretched 
out  his  long  legs,  and  puffed  away  again. 

"So  that's  what  you  look  like?"    With  a  quick 


40  The  Great  Hunger 

movement  lie  reached  for  a  photograph  in  a  frame. 
Peer  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  father  in  uniform. 
The  schoolmaster  lifted  his  spectacles,  stared  at 
the  picture,  then  let  down  his  spectacles  again  and 
fell  to  scrutinising  Peer's  face.  There  was  a  si- 
lence for  a  while,  and  then  he  said:  "Ah,  indeed — 
I  see — h  'm. ' '  Then  turning  to  Peer : 

"Well,  my  lad,  it  was  very  sudden — your  bene- 
factor's end — most  unexpected.  He  is  to  be  buried 
to-day. " 

"Benefactor?"  thought  Peer.  ""Why  doesn't 
he  say  '  your  father ' ?  " 

The  schoolmaster  was  gazing  at  the  window. 
"He  informed  me  some  time  ago  of — h'm — of  all 
the — all  the  benefits  he  had  conferred  on  you — 
h'm!  And  he  begged  me  to  keep  an  eye  on  you 
myself  in  case  anything  happened  to  him.  And 
now" — the  spectacles  swung  round  towards  Peer 
« — "now  you  are  starting  out  in  life  by  yourself, 
hey?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peer,  shifting  a  little  in  his  seat. 

"You  will  have  to  decide  now  what  walk  in  life 
you  are  to — er — devote  yourself  to. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Peer  again,  sitting  up  straighten 

"You  would  perhaps  like  to  be  a  fisherman — 
like  the  good  people  you've  been  brought  up 
among?" 

"No."  Peer  shook  his  head  disdainfully.  Was 
this  man  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  him? 

* '  Some  trade,  then,  perhaps  ? ' ' 

"No!' 


"Oh,  then  I  suppose  it's  to  be  America.  Well, 
you  will  easily  find  company  to  go  with.  Such 
numbers  are  going  nowadays. — I  am  sorry  to 
say.  .  .  .  " 

Peer  pulled  himself  together.  *  *  Oh,  no,  not  that 
at  all."  Better  get  it  out  at  once.  "I  wish  to  be 
a  priest,"  he  said,  speaking  with  a  careful  town 
accent. 

The  schoolmaster  rose  from  his  seat,  holding  his 
long  pipe  up  in  the  air  in  one  hand,  and  pressing 
his  ear  forward  with  the  other,  as  though  to  hear 
better.  ' l  What  ? — what  did  you  say  ? ' ' 

"  A  priest,"  repeated  Peer,  but  he  moved  behind 
his  chair  as  he  spoke,  for  it  looked  as  if  the  school- 
master might  fling  the  pipe  at  his  head. 

But  suddenly  the  red  face  broke  into  a  smile,  ex- 
posing such  an  array  of  greenish  teeth  as  Peer  had 
never  seen  before.  Then  he  said  in  a  sort  of  sing- 
song, nodding:  "A  priest?  Oh,  indeed!  Quite  a 
small  matter!"  He  rose  and  wandered  once  or 
twice  up  and  down  the  room,  then  stopped,  nodded, 
and  said  in  a  fatherly  tone — to  one  of  the  book- 
shelves: "H'm — really — really — we're  a  little  am- 
bitious, are  we  not?" 

He  turned  on  Peer  suddenly.  "Look  here,  my 
young  friend — don't  you  think  your  benefactor  has 
been  quite  generous  enough  to  you  already?" 

"Yes,  indeed  he  has,"  said  Peer,  his  voice  be- 
ginning to  tremble  a  little. 

"There  are  thousands  of  boys  in  your  position 
who  are  thrown  out  in  the  world  after  confirma- 


42  The  Great  Hunger 

tion  and  left  to  shift  for  themselves,  without  a  soul 
to  lend  them  a  helping  hand." 

"Yes,"  gasped  Peer,  looking  round  involuntar- 
ily towards  the  door. 

"I  can't  understand — who  can  have  put  these 
wild  ideas  into  your  head?" 

With  an  effort  Peer  managed  to  get  out:  "It's 
always  been  what  I  wanted.  And  he — father " 

"Who?  Father ?  Do  you  mean  your  ben- 
efactor!" 

"Well,  he  was  my  father,  wasn't  he?"  burst  out 
Peer. 

The  schoolmaster  tottered  back  and  sank  into 
a  chair,  staring  at  Peer  as  if  he  thought  him  a 
quite  hopeless  subject.  At  last  he  recovered  so 
far  as  to  say:  "Look  here,  my  lad,  don't  you 
think  you  might  be  content  to  call  him — now  and 
for  the  future — just  your  benefactor?  Don't  you 
think  he  deserves  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  whispered  Peer,  almost  in  tears. 

"You  are  thinking,  of  course — you  and  those 
who  have  put  all  this  nonsense  into  your  head — • 
of  the  money  which  he — h'm " 

"Yes — isn't  there  a  savings  bank  ac- 
count  ?" 

"Aha!  There  we  are!  Yes,  indeed.  There  is 
a  savings  bank  account — in  my  care."  He  rose, 
and  hunted  out  from  a  drawer  a  small  green- 
covered  book.  Peer  could  not  take  his  eyes  from 
it.  "Here  it  is.  The  sum  entered  here  to  your 
account  amounts  to  eighteen  hundred  crowns." 


The  Great  Htmger 


Crash  I  Peer  felt  as  if  he  had  fallen  through 
the  floor  into  the  cellarage.  All  his  dreams  van- 
ished into  thin  air — the  million  crowns — priest 
and  bishop — Christiania — and  all  the  rest. 

"On  the  day  when  you  are  in  a  fair  way  to 
set  up  independently  as  an  artisan,  a  farmer,  or 
a  fisherman — and  when  you  seem  to  me,  to  the 
best  of  my  judgment,  to  deserve  such  help — then 
and  not  till  then  I  place  this  book  at  your  dis- 
posal. Do  you  understand  what  I  say!" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  perfectly  sure  that  I  am  in  full  agree- 
ment with  the  wishes  of  the  donor  in  deciding 
that  the  money  must  remain  untouched  in  my 
safe  keeping  until  then." 

"Yes,"  whispered  Peer. 

"What? — are  you  crying?" 

"N-no.    Good-morning " 

"No,  pray  don't  go  yet.  Sit  down.  There  are 
one  or  two  things  we  must  get  settled  at  once. 
First  of  all — you  must  trust  me,  my  good  boy. 
Do  you  believe  that  I  wish  you  well,  or  do  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  it  is  agreed  that  all  these  fancies  about 
going  to  college  and  so  forth  must  be  driven  out  of 
your  head  once  for  all?" 

"Y-yes,  sir." 

"You  can  see  yourself  that,  even  supposing  you 
had  the  mental  qualifications,  such  a  sum,  gen- 


44  The  Great  Hunger 

erous  as  it  is  in  itself,  would  not  suffice  to  carry 
you  far." 

"No-no,  sir. " 

"On  the  other  hand,  if  you  wish  it,  I  will  gladly 
arrange  to  get  you  an  apprentice's  place  with  a 
good  handicraftsman  here.  You  would  have  free 
board  there,  and — well,  if  you  should  want  clothes 
the  first  year  or  so,  I  dare  say  we  could  manage 
that.  You  will  be  better  without  pocket-money 
to  fling  about  until  you  can  earn  it  for  your- 
self. " 

Peer  sighed,  and  drooped  as  he  stood.  When 
he  saw  the  green-backed  book  locked  into  its 
drawer  again,  and  heard  the  keys  rattle  as  they 
went  back  into  a  pocket  under  the  dressing-gown, 
he  felt  as  if  some  one  were  pointing  a  jeering 
finger  at  him,  and  saying,  "Yah!" 

* '  Then  there 's  another  thing.  About  your  name. 
What  name  have  you  thought  of  taking,  my  lad-—; 
surname,  I  mean?" 

"My  name  is  Peer  Holm!"  said  the  boy,  in- 
stinctively drawing  himself  up  as  he  had  done 
when  the  bishop  had  patted  his  head  at  the  con- 
firmation and  asked  his  name. 

The  schoolmaster  pursed  up  his  lips,  took  off 
his  spectacles  and  wiped  them,  put  them  on  again, 
and  turned  to  the  bookshelves  with  a  sigh.  "Ah, 
indeed ! — yes1 — yes — I  almost  thought  as  much. ' ' 

Then  he  came  forward  and  laid  a  hand  kindly 
on  Peer's  shoulder. 

"My  dear  boy — that  is  out  of  the  question." 


The  Great  Hunger  45 

A  shiver  went  through  Peer.  Had  he  done 
something  wrong  again? 

"See  here,  my  boy — have  you  considered  that 
there  may  be  others  of  that  name  in  this  same 
place!" 

"Yes— but " 

"Wait  a  minute — and  that  you  would  occasion 
these — others — the  deepest  pain  and  distress  if  it 
should  become  known  that — well,  how  matters 
stand.  You  see,  I  am  treating  you  as  a  grown-up 
man — a  gentleman.  And  I  feel  sure  you  would  not 
wish  to  inflict  a  great  sorrow — a  crushing  blow — < 
upon  a  widow  and  her  innocent  children.  There, 
there,  my  boy,  there 's  nothing  to  cry  about.  Life, 
my  young  friend,  life  has  troubles  that  must  be 
faced.  "What  is  the  name  of  the  farm,  or  house, 
where  you  have  lived  up  to  now?" 

"T— Trb'en." 

"Troen — a  very  good  name  indeed.  Then  from 
to-day  on  you  will  call  yourself  Peer  Troen." 

"Y-yes,  sir." 

"And  if  any  one  should  ask  about  your  father, 
remember  that  you  are  bound  in  honour  and  con- 
science not  to  mention  your  benefactor's  name." 

"Y-yes." 

"Well,  then,  as  soon  as  you  have  made  up  your 
mind,  come  at  once  and  let  me  know.  We  shall 
be  great  friends  yet,  you  will  see.  You're  sure 
you  wouldn't  like  to  try  America?  Well,  well, 
come  along  out  to  the  kitchen  and  see  if  we  can 
find  you  some  breakfast." 


46  The  Great  Hunger 

Peer  found  himself  a  moment  after  sitting  on  a 
chair  in  the  kitchen,  where  there  was  such  a  good 
smell  of  coffee.  " Bertha,"  said  the  schoolmaster 
coaxingly,  "you'll  find  something  good  for  break- 
fast for  my  young  friend  here,  won't  you?"  He 
waved  a  farewell  with  his  hand,  took  down  his 
socks  from  a  string  above  the  stove,  and  disap- 
peared through  the  door  again. 


Chapter  IV 

WHEN  a  country  boy  in  blue  homespun,  with  a 
peaked  cap  on  his  blond  head,  goes  wandering  at 
random  through  the  streets  of  a  town,  it  is  no 
particular  concern  of  any  one  else.  He  moves 
along,  gazing  in  at  shop  windows,  hands  deep  in 
his  pockets,  whistling,  looking  at  everything 
around  him — or  at  nothing  at  all.  And  yet — per- 
haps in  the  head  under  that  peaked  cap  it  seems 
as  if  a  whole  little  world  had  suddenly  collapsed, 
and  he  may  be  whistling  hard  to  keep  from  cry- 
ing in  the  streets  for  people  to  see.  He  steps 
aside  to  avoid  a  cart,  and  runs  into  a  man,  who 
drops  his  cigar  in  the  gutter.  "Confounded 
country  lout!"  says  the  man  angrily,  but  passes 
on  and  has  forgotten  boy  and  all  the  next  mo- 
ment. But  a  little  farther  on  a  big  dog  comes 
dashing  out  of  a  yard  and  unluckily  upsets  a  fat 
old  woman  on  the  pavement,  and  the  boy  with 
the  peaked  cap,  for  all  his  troubles,  cannot  help 
doubling  up  and  roaring  with  laughter. 

That  afternoon,  Peer  sat  on  one  of  the  ramparts 
below  the  fortress,  biting  at  a  stalk  of  grass,  and 
twirling  the  end  in  his  fingers.  Below  him  lay 
town  and  fjord  in  the  mild  October  sunlight;  the 
rumble  of  traffic,  the  noises  from  workshops  and 

47 


48  The  Great  Hunger 

harbour,  came  up  to  him  through  the  rust-brown 
luminous  haze.  There  he  sat,  while  the  sentry 
on  the  wall  above  marched  back  and  forth,  with 
his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  left — right — left. 

You  may  climb  very  high  up  indeed,  and  fall 
down  very  deep,  and  no  such  terrible  harm  done 
after  all,  as  long  as  you  don't  absolutely  break 
your  neck.  And  gradually  Peer  began  to  realise 
that  he  was  still  alive,  after  all.  It  is  a  bad  busi- 
ness when  the  world  goes  against  you,  even  though 
you  may  have  some  one  to  turn  to  for  advice  and 
sympathy.  But  when  all  the  people  round  you 
are  utter  strangers,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done 
but  sit  down  and  twirl  a  straw,  and  think  things 
out  a  bit  for  yourself.  Peer's  thoughts  were  of 
a  thing  in  a  long  dressing-gown  that  had  taken 
his  bank  book  and  locked  it  up  and  rattled  the 
keys  at  him  and  said  "Yah!"  and  deposed  him 
from  his  bishopric  and  tried  to  sneeze  and  squeeze 
him  into  a  trade,  where  he'd  have  to  carry  a 
pressing-iron  all  his  life  and  be  Peer  Troen, 
Tailor.  But  he  wouldn't  have  that.  He  sat  there 
bracing  himself  up,  and  trying  to  gather  together 
from  somewhere  a  thing  he  had  never  had  much 
need  of  before — to  wit,  a  will  of  his  own,  some- 
thing to  set  up  against  the  whole  wide  world. 
What  was  he  to  do  now?  He  felt  he  would  like 
to  go  back  to  Troen  first  of  all,  and  talk  things 
over  with  the  old  father  and  mother;  they  would 
be  sorry  for  him  there,  and  say  "Poor  boy,"  and 
pray  for  him — but  after  a  day  or  two,  he  knew, 


The  Great  Hunger  49 

they  would  begin  to  glance  at  him  at  meals,  and 
remember  that  there  was  no  one  to  pay  for  him 
now,  and  that  times  were  hard.  No,  that  was  no 
refuge  for  him  now.  But  what  could  he  do,  then? 
Clearly  it  was  not  such  a  simple  matter  to  be  all 
alone  in  the  world. 

A  little  later  he  found  himself  on  a  hillside  by 
the  Cathedral  churchyard,  sitting  under  the  yel- 
lowing trees,  and  wondering  dreamily  where  his 
father  was  to  be  buried.  What  a  difference  be- 
tween him  and  that  schoolmaster  man!  No 
preaching  with  him;  no  whining  about  what  his 
boy  might  call  himself  or  might  not.  "Why  must 
he  go  and  die? 

It  was  strange  to  think  of  that  fine  strong  man, 
who  had  brushed  his  hair  and  beard  so  carefully 
with  his  silver-backed  brush — to  think  that  he  was 
lying  still  in  a  coffin  now,  and  would  soon  be  cov- 
ered up  with  earth. 

People  were  coming  up  the  hill  now,  and  pass- 
ing in  to  the  churchyard.  The  men  wore  black 
clothes  and  tall  shiny  hats — but  there  were  some 
officers  too,  with  plumes  and  sashes.  And  then  a 
regimental  band — with  its  brass  instruments. 
Peer  slipped  into  the  churchyard  with  the  crowd, 
but  kept  apart  from  the  rest,  and  took  up  his  stand 
a  little  way  off,  beside  a  big  monument.  *  'It  must 
be  father's  funeral,"  he  thought  to  himself,  and 
was  broad  awake  at  once. 

This,  he  guessed,  must  be  the  Cadet  School, 
that  came  marching  in,  and  formed  up  in  two  lines 


50  The  Great  Hwnger 

from  the  mortuary  chapel  to  the  open  grave. 
The  place  was  nearly  full  of  people  now;  there 
were  women  holding  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes, 
and  an  elderly  lady  in  black  went  into  the  chapel, 
on  the  arm  of  a  tall  man  in  uniform.  "That  must 
be  father's  wife,"  thought  Peer,  "and  the  young 
ladies  there  in  black  are — my  half-sisters,  and 
that  young  lieutenant — my  half-brother. "  How 
strange  it  all  was !  A  sound  of  singing  came  from 
the  chapel.  And  a  little  later  six  sergeants  came 
out,  carrying  a  coffin  all  heaped  with  flowers* 
"Present  arms!"  And  the  soldiers  presented, 
and  the  band  played  a  slow  march  and  moved 
off  in  front  of  the  coffin,  between  the  two  lines 
of  soldiers.  And  then  came  a  great  following  of 
mourners.  The  lady  in  black  came  out  again, 
sobbing  behind  her  handkerchief,  and  hardly  able 
to  follow,  though  she  clung  to  the  tall  officer's 
arm.  But  in  front  of  the  pair,  just  behind  the  cof- 
fin itself,  walked  a  tall  man  in  splendid  uniform, 
with  gold  epaulettes,  plumed  hat,  and  sword,  bear- 
ing a  cushion  with  two  jewelled  stars.  And  the 
long,  long  train  of  mourners  moved  slowly,  gently 
on,  and  there — there  by  the  grave,  stood  the  priest, 
holding  a  spade. 

Peer  was  anxious  to  hear  what  the  priest  would 
have  to  say  about  his  father.  Involuntarily  he 
stole  a  little  nearer,  though  he  felt  somehow  that 
it  would  not  do  to  come  too  close. 

A  hymn  was  sung  at  the  graveside,  the  band 
accompanying.  Peer  took  off  his  cap.  He  was 


The  Great  Hunger  51 

too  taken  up  to  notice  that  one  of  the  mourners 
was  watching  him  intently,  and  presently  left  the 
group  and  came  towards  him.  The  man  wore  spec- 
tacles, and  a  shiny  tall  hat,  and  it  was  not  until 
he  began  to  sneeze  that  Peer  recognised  him.  It 
was  the  schoolmaster,  glaring  at  him  now  with  a 
face  so  full  of  horror  and  fury  that  the  spectacles 
almost  seemed  to  be  spitting  fire. 

"You — you Are  you  mad?'*  he  whispered 

in  Peer's  face,  clenching  his  black  gloved  hands. 
* '  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Do  you  want  to  cause 
a  catastrophe  to-day  of  all  days?  Go — get  away 
at  once,  do  you  hear  me?  Go !  For  heaven's  sake, 
get  away  from  here  before  any  one  sees."  Peer 
turned  and  fled,  hearing  behind  him  as  he  went 

a  threatening  "If  ever  you  dare — again ," 

while  the  voices  and  the  band,  swelling  higher  in 
the  hymn,  seemed  to  strike  him  in  the  back  and 
drive  him  on. 

He  was  far  down  in  the  town  before  he  could 
stop  and  pull  himself  together.  One  thing  was 
clear — after  this  he  could  never  face  that  school- 
master again.  All  was  lost.  Could  he  even  be 
sure  that  what  he  had  done  wasn't  so  frightfully 
wrong  that  he  would  have  to  go  to  prison  for  it? 

Next  day  the  Trb'en  folk  were  sitting  at  their 
dinner  when  the  eldest  son  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  said:  "There's  Peer  coming." 

"Mercy  on  us!"  cried  the  good-wife,  as  he  came 
in.  "What  is  the  matter,  Peer?  Are  you  ill?" 

Ah,  it  was  good  that  night  to  creep  in  under 


52  The  Great  Hunger 

the  old  familiar  skin-rug  once  more.  And  the  old 
mother  sat  on  the  bedside  and  talked  to  him  of  the 
Lord,  by  way  of  comfort.  Peer  clenched  his  hands 
under  the  clothes — somehow  he  thought  now  of  the 
Lord  as  a  sort  of  schoolmaster  in  a  dressing- 
gown.  Yet  it  was  some  comfort  all  the  same  to 
have  the  old  soul  sit  there  and  talk  to  him. 

Peer  had  much  to  put  up  with  in  the  days  that 
followed — much  tittering  and  whispers  of  "Look! 
there  goes  the  priest, "  as  he  went  by.  At  table, 
he  felt  ashamed  of  every  mouthful  he  took;  he 
hunted  for  jobs  as  day-labourer  on  distant  farms 
so  as  to  earn  a  little  to  help  pay  for  his  keep. 
And  when  the  winter  came  he  would  have  to  do 
as  the  others  did — hire  himself  out,  young  and 
small  as  he  was,  for  the  Lofoten  fishing. 

But  one  day  after  church  Klaus  Brock  drew 
him  aside  and  got  him  to  talk  things  over  at  length. 
First,  Klaus  told  him  that  he  himself  was  going 
away — he  was  to  begin  in  one  of  the  mechanical 
workshops  in  town,  and  go  from  there  to  the 
Technical  College,  to  qualify  for  an  engineer. 
And  next  he  wanted  to  hear  the  whole  truth  about 
what  had  happened  to  Peer  that  day  in  town. 
For  when  people  went  slapping  their  thighs  and 
sniggering  about  the  young  would-be  priest  that 
had  turned  out  a  beggar,  Klaus  felt  he  would 
like  to  give  the  lot  of  them  a  darned  good  ham- 
mering. 

So  the  two  sixteen-year-old  boys  wandered  up 
and  down  talking,  and  in  the  days  to  come  Peer 


The  Great  Hunger  53 

never  forgot  how  his  old  accomplice  in  the  shark- 
fishing  had  stood  by  him  now.  "Do  like  me,'* 
urged  Klaus.  "You're  a  bit  of  a  smith  already, 
man;  go  to  the  workshops,  and  read  up  in  your 
spare  time  for  the  entrance  exam,  to  the  Technical. 
Then  three  years  at  the  College — the  eighteen 
hundred  crowns  will  cover  that — and  there  you 
are,  an  engineer — and  needn't  even  owe  any  one 
a  halfpenny." 

Peer  shook  his  head ;  he  was  sure  he  would  never 
dare  to  show  his  face  before  that  schoolmaster 
again,  much  less  ask  for  the  money  in  the  bank. 
No;  the  whole  thing  was  over  and  done  with  for 
him. 

"But  devil  take  it,  man,  surely  you  can  see 
that  this  ape  of  a  schoolmaster  dare  not  keep  you 
out  of  your  money.  Let  me  come  with  you;  we'll 
go  up  and  tackle  him  together,  and  then — then 
you'll  see."  And  Klaus*  clenched  his  fists  and 
thrust  out  one  shoulder  fiercely. 

But  when  January  came,  there  was  Peer  in  oil- 
skins, in  the  foc's'le  of  a  Lofoten  fishing-smack, 
ploughing  the  long  sea-road  north  to  the  fishing- 
grounds,  in  frost  and  snow-storms.  All  through 
that  winter  he  lived  the  fisherman's  life:  on  land, 
in  one  of  the  tiny  fisher-booths  where  a  five-man 
crew  is  packed  like  sardines  in  an  air  so  thick  you 
can  cut  it  with  a  knife;  at  sea,  where  in  a  fair 
wind  you  stand  half  the  day  doing  nothing  and 
freezing  stiff  the  while — and  a  foul  wind  means 
out  oars,  and  row,  row,  row,  over  an  endless  plain 


54  The  Great  Hunger 

of  rolling  icy  combers ;  row,  row,  till  one's  hands 
are  lumps  of  bleeding  flesh.  Peer  lived  through 
it  all,  thinking  now  and  then,  when  he  could  think 
at  all,  how  the  grand  gentlefolk  had  driven  liim 
out  to  this  life  because  he  was  impertinent  enough 
to  exist.  And  when  the  fourteen  weeks  were  past, 
and  the  Lofoten  boats  stood  into  the  fjord  again 
on  a  mild  spring  day,  it  was  easy  for  Peer  to 
reckon  out  his  earnings,  which  were  just  nothing 
at  all.  He  had  had  to  borrow  money  for  his  out- 
fit and  food,  and  he  would  be  lucky  if  his  boy's 
share  was  enough  to  cover  what  he  owed. 

A  few  weeks  later  a  boy  stood  by  the  yard  gate 
of  an  engineering  works  in  the  town  just  as  the 
bell  was  ringing  and  the  men  came  streaming  out, 
and  asked  for  Klaus  Brock. 

" Hullo,  Peer — that  you?  Been  to  Lofoten  and 
made  your  fortune?" 

The  two  boys  stood  a  moment  taking  stock  of 
one  another :  Klaus  grimy-faced  and  in  working- 
clothes — Peer  weather-beaten  and  tanned  by 
storm  and  spray. 

The  manager  of  the  factory  was  Klaus 's  uncle, 
and  the  same  afternoon  his  nephew  came  into  the 
office  with  a  new  hand  wanting  to  be  taken  on  as 
apprentice.  He  had  done  some  smithy  work  be- 
fore, he  said;  and  he  was  taken  on  forthwith,  at 
a  wage  of  twopence  an  hour. 

"And  what's  your  name?" 

"Peer — er" — the  rest  stuck  in  his  throat. 

"Holm,"  put  in  Klaus*. 


The  Great  Hunger  55 

"Peer  Holm!    Very  well,  that'll  do." 
The  two  boys  went  out  with  a  feeling  of  having 
done  something  rather  daring.    And  anyway,  if 
trouble  should  come  along,  there  would  be  two  of 
them  now  to  tackle  it. 


Chapter  V 

IN  a  narrow  alley  off  Sea  Street  lived  Gorseth  the 
job-master,  with  a  household  consisting  of  a  lean 
and  skinny  wife,  two  half-starved  horses,  and  a 
few  ramshackle  flies  and  sledges.  The  job-master 
himself  was  a  hulking  toper  with  red  nose  and 
beery-yellow  eyes,  who  spent  his  nights  in  drink- 
ing and  got  home  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing when  his  wife  was  just  about  getting  up.  All 
through  the  morning  she  went  about  the  place 
scolding  and  storming  at  him  for  a  drunken  ne'er- 
do-well,  while  Gorseth  himself  lay  comfortably 
snoring. 

When  Peer  arrived  on  the  scene  with  his  box 
on  his  shoulder,  Gorseth  was  on  his  knees  in  the 
yard,  greasing  a  pair  of  leather  carriage-aprons, 
while  his  wife,  sunken-lipped  and  fierce-eyed, 
stood  in  the  kitchen  doorway,  abusing  him  for  a 
profligate,  a  swine,  and  the  scum  of  the  earth. 
Gorseth  lay  there  on  all-fours,  with  the  sun  shin- 
ing on  his  bald  head,  smearing  on  the  grease; 
but  every  now  and  then  he  would  lift  his  head  and 
snarl  out,  "Hold  your  jaw,  you  damned  old  jade !" 

"Haven't  you  a  room  to  let!"  Peer  asked. 

A  beery  nose  was  turned  towards  him,  and  the 
man  dragged  himself  up  and  wiped  his  hands  on 

56 


The  Great  Hunger  57 

his  trousers.  "Bight  you  are,"  said  he,  and  led 
the  way  across  the  yard,  up  some  stairs,  and  into 
a  little  room  with  two  panes  of  glass  looking  on 
to  the  street  and  a  half -window  on  the  yard.  The 
room  had  a  bed  with  sheets,  a  couple  of  chairs, 
and  a  tahle  in  front  of  the  half -window.  Six  and 
six  a  month.  Agreed.  Peer  took  it  on  the  spot, 
paid  down  the  first  month's  rent,  and  having  got 
rid  of  the  man  sat  down  on  his  chest  and  looked 
ahout  him.  Many  people  have  never  a  roof  to 
their  heads,  but  here  was  he,  Peer,  with  a  home 
of  hia  own.  Outside  in  the  yard  the  woman  had 
begun  yelping  her  abuse  again,  the  horses  Jn 
the  stable  beneath  were  stamping  and  whinnying, 
but  Peer  had  lodged  in  fisher-booths  and  peasants' 
quarters  and  was  not  too  particular.  Here  he 
was  for  the  first  time  in  a  place  of  his  own,  and 
within  its  walls  was  master  of  the  house  and  hia 
own  master. 

Food  was  the  next  thing.  He  went  out  and 
bought  in  supplies,  stocking  his  chest  with  plain 
country  fare.  At  dinner  time  he  sat  on  the  lid,  as 
fishermen  do,  and  made  a  good  solid  meal  of  flat 
bannocks  and  cold  bacon. 

And  now  he  fell-to  at  his  new  work.  There  was 
no  question  of  whether  it  was  what  he  wanted 
or  not;  here  was  a  chance  of  getting  up  in  the 
world,  and  that  without  having  to  beg  any  one's 
leave.  He  meant  to  get  on.  And  it  was  not  long 
before  his  dreams  began  to  take  a  new  shape  from 
his  new  life.  He  stood  at  the  bottom  of  a  ladder, 


58  The  Great  Hunger 

a  blacksmith's  boy — but  up  at  the  top  sat  a  mighty 
Chief  Engineer,  with  gold  spectacles  and  white 
waistcoat.  That  was  where  he  would  be  one  day. 
And  if  any  schoolmaster  came  along  and  tried  to 
keep  him  back  this  time — well,  just  let  him  try  it. 
They  had  turned  him  out  of  a  churchyard  once — 
he  would  have  his  revenge  for  that  some  day.  It 
might  take  him  years  and  years  to  do  it,  but  one 
fine  day  he  would  be  as  good  as  the  best  of  them, 
and  would  pay  them  back  in  full. 

In  the  misty  mornings,  as  he  tramped  in  to  his 
work,  dinner-pail  in  hand,  his  footsteps  on  the 
plank  bridge  seemed  hammering  out  with  concen- 
trated will :  * '  To-day  I  shall  learn  something  new 
— new — new!" 

The  great  works  down  at  the  harbour — ship- 
yard, foundry,  and  machine  shops — were  a  whole 
city  in  themselves.  And  into  this  world  of  fire 
and  smoke  and  glowing  iron,  steam-hammers,  rac- 
ing wheels,  and  bustle  and  noise,  he  was  thrust- 
ing his  way,  intent  upon  one  thing,  to  learn  and 
learn  and  ever  learn.  There  were  plenty  of  those 
by  him  who  were  content  to  know  their  way 
about  the  little  corner  where  they  stood — but  they 
would  never  get  any  farther.  They  would  end 
their  days  broken-down  workmen — Tie  would 
carve  his  way  through  till  he  stood  among  the 
masters.  He  had  first  to  put  in  some  months' 
work  in  the  smithy,  then  he  would  be  passed  on 
to  the  machine  shops,  then  to  work  with  the  car- 
penters and  painters,  and  finally  in  the  shipyard. 


The  Great  Himger  59 

The  whole  thing  would  take  a  couple  of  years. 
But  the  works  and  all  therein  were  already  a  kind 
of  new  Bible  to  him;  a  book  of  books,  which  he 
must  learn  by  heart.  Only  wait ! 

And  what  a  place  it  was  for  new  adventures! 
Many  times  a  day  he  would  find  himself  gazing 
at  some  new  wonder;  sheer  miracle  and  revela- 
tion— yet  withal  no  creation  of  God's  grace,  but 
an  invention  of  men.  Press  a  button,  and  be- 
hold, a  miracle  springs  to  life.  He  would  stare 
at  the  things,  and  the  strain  of  understanding 
them  would  sometimes  keep  him  awake  at  night. 
There  was  something  behind  this,  something  that 
must  be — spirit,  even  though  it  did  not  come  from 
God.  These  engineers  were  priests  of  a  sort, 
albeit  they  did  not  preach  nor  pray.  It  was  a  new 
world. 

One  day  he  was  put  to  riveting  work  on  an 
enormous  boiler,  and  for  the  first  time  found  lam- 
self  working  with  a  power  that  was  not  the  power 
of  his  own  hands.  It  was  a  tube,  full  of  com- 
pressed air,  that  drove  home  the  rivets  in  quick 
succession  with  a  clashing  wail  from  the  boiler 
that  sounded  all  over  the  town.  Peer's  head  and 
ears  ached  with  the  noise,  but  he  smiled  all  the 
same.  He  was  used  to  toil  himself,  in  weariness 
of  body;  now  he  stood  here  master,  was  mind 
and  soul  and  directing  will.  He  felt  it  now  for 
the  first  time,  and  it  sent  a  thrill  of  triumph 
through  every  nerve  of  his  body. 

But  all  through  the  long  evenings  he  sat  alone, 


60  The  Great  Hunger 

reading,  reading,  and  heard  the  horses  stamping 
in  the  stable  below.  And  when  he  crept  into  bed, 
well  after  midnight,  there  was  only  one  thing  that 
troubled  him — his  utter  loneliness.  Klaus  Brock 
lived  with  his  uncle,  in  a  fine  house,  and  went  to 
parties.  And  he  lay  here  all  by  himself.  If  he 
were  to  die  that  very  night,  there  would  be  hardly 
a  soul  to  care.  So  utterly  alone  he  was — in  a 
strange  and  indifferent  world. 

Sometimes  it  helped  him  a  little  to  think  of  the 
old  mother  at  Troen,  or  of  the  church  at  home, 
where  the  vaulted  roof  had  soared  so  high  over 
the  swelling  organ-notes,  and  all  the  faces  had 
looked  so  beautiful.  But  the  evening  prayer  was 
no  longer  what  it  had  been  for  him.  There  was 
no  grey-haired  bishop  any  more  sitting  at  the  top 
of  the  ladder  he  was  to  climb.  The  Chief  Engi- 
neer that  was  there  now  had  nothing  to  do  with 
Our  Lord,  or  with  life  in  the  world  to  come.  He 
would  never  come  so  far  now  that  he  could  go 
down  into  the  place  of  torment  where  his  mother 
lay,  and  bring  her  up  with  him,  up  to  salvation. 
And  whatever  power  and  might  he  gained,  he 
could  never  stand  in  autumn  evenings  and  lift  up 
his  finger  and  make  all  the  stars  break  into  song. 

Something  was  past  and  gone  for  Peer.  It  was 
as  if  he  were  rowing  away  from  a  coast  where  red 
clouds  hung  in  the  sky  and  dream-visions  filled 
the  air — rowing  farther  and  farther  away,  to- 
wards something  quite  new.  A  power  stronger 
than  himself  had  willed  it  so. 


The  Great  Hunger  61 

One  Sunday,  as  he  sat  reading,  the  door  opened, 
and  Klaus  Brock  entered  whistling,  with  his  cap 
on  the  back  of  his  head. 

' '  Hullo,  old  boy !    So  this  is  where  you  live  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  it  is — and  that's  a  chair  over  there." 

But  Klaus  remained  standing,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  his  cap  on,  staring  about  the 
room.  "Well,  I'm  blest!"  he  said  at  last.  "If 
he  hasn't  stuck  up  a  photograph  of  himself  on 
his  table!" 

"Well,  did  you  never  see  one  before?  Don't 
you  know  everybody  has  them?" 

"Not  their  own  photos,  you  ass!  If  anybody 
sees  that,  you'll  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

Peer  took  up  the  photograph  and  flung  it  under 
the  bed.  "Well,  it  was  a  rubbishy  thing, ' '  he  mut- 
tered. Evidently  he  had  made  a  mistake.  "But 
what  about  this  ? ' ' — pointing  to  a  coloured  picture 
he  had  nailed  up  on  the  wall. 

Klaus  put  on  his  most  manly  air  and  bit  off  a 
piece  of  tobacco  plug.  "Ah!  that!"  he  said,  try- 
ing not  to  laugh  too  soon. 

"Yes;  it's  a  fine  painting,  isn't  it?  I  got  it  for 
fourpence." 

"Painting!  Ha-ha!  that's  good!  Why,  you 
silly  cow,  can't  you  see  it's  only  an  oleograph?" 

"Oh,  of  course  you  know  all  about  it.  You 
always  do." 

"I'll  take  you  along  one  day  to  the  Art  Gal- 
lery," said  Klaus.  "Then  you  can  see  what  a 


62  The  Great  Hunger 

real  painting  looks  like.  What's  that  you've  got 
there — English  reader?" 

"Yes,"  put  in  Peer  eagerly;  "hear  me  say  a 
poem."  And  before  Klaus  could  protest,  he  had 
begun  to  recite. 

When  he  had  finished,  Klaus  sat  for  a  while  in 
silence,  chewing  his  quid.  "H'm!"  he  said  at 
last,  "if  our  last  teacher,  Froken  Zebbelin,  could 
have  heard  that  English  of  yours,  we'd  have  had 
to  send  for  a  nurse  for  her,  hanged  if  we 
wouldn't!" 

This  was  too  much.  Peer  flung  the  book  against 
the  wall  and  told  the  other  to  clear  out  to  the 
devil.  When  Klaus  at  last  managed  to  get  a  word 
in,  he  said: 

"If  you  are  to  pass  your  entrance  at  the  Techni- 
cal you'll  have  to  have  lessons — surely  you  can 
see  that.  You  must  get  hold  of  a  teacher." 

"Easy  for  you  to  talk  about  teachers!  Let  .me 
tell  you  my  pay  is  twopence  an  hour. ' ' 

"I'll  find  you  one  who  can  take  you  twice  a  week 
or  so  in  languages  and  history  and  mathematics. 
I  daresay  some  broken-down  sot  of  a  student 
would  take  you  on  for  sevenpence  a  lesson.  You 
could  run  to  that,  surely?" 

Peer  was  quiet  now  and  a  little  pensive.  "Well, 
if  I  give  up  butter,  and  drink  water  instead  of 
coffee " 

Klaus  laughed,  but  his  eyes  were  moist.  Hard 
luck  that  he  couldn't  offer  to  lend  his  comrade  a 
few  shillings — but  it  wouldn't  do. 


The  Great  Hunger  68 

So  the  summer  passed.  On  Sundays  Peer  would 
watch  the  young  folks  setting  out  in  the  morning 
for  the  country,  to  spend  the  whole  day  wandering 
in  the  fields  and  woods,  while  he  sat  indoors  over 
his  books.  And  in  the  evening  he  would  stick  his 
head  out  of  his  two-paned  window  that  looked  on 
to  the  street,  and  would  see  the  lads  and  girls 
coming  back,  flushed  and  noisy,  with  flowers  and 
green  boughs  in  their  hats,  crazy  with  sunshine 
and  fresh  air.  And  still  he  must  sit  and  read  on. 
But  in  the  autumn,  when  the  long  nights  set  in, 
he  would  go  for  a  walk  through  the  streets  before 
going  to  bed,  as  often  as  not  up  to  the  white 
wooden  house  where  the  manager  lived.  This 
was  Klaus 's  home.  Lights  in  the  windows,  and 
often  music;  the  happy  people  that  lived  here 
knew  and  could  do  all  sorts  of  things  that  could 
never  be  learned  from  books.  No  mistake :  he  had 
a  goodish  way  to  go — a  long,  long  way.  But  get 
there  he  would. 

One  day  Klaus  happened  to  mention,  quite  casu- 
ally, where  Colonel  Holm's  widow  lived,  and  late 
one  evening  Peer  made  his  way  out  there,  and  cau- 
tiously approached  the  house.  It  was  in  River 
Street,  almost  hidden  in  a  cluster  of  great  trees, 
and  Peer  stood  there,  leaning  against  the  garden 
fence,  trembling  with  some  obscure  emotion.  The 
long  rows  of  windows  on  both  floors  were  lighted 
up;  he  could  hear  youthful  laughter  within,  and 
then  a  young  girl's  voice  singing — doubtless  they 
were  having  a  party.  Peer  turned  up  his  collar 


The  Great  Hunger 


against  the  wind,  and  tramped  back  through  the 
town  to  his  lodging  above  the  carter's  stable. 

For  the  lonely  working  boy  Saturday  evening 
is  a  sort  of  festival.  He  treats  himself  to  an  extra 
wash,  gets  out  his  clean  underclothes  from  his 
chest,  and  changes.  And  the  smell  of  the  newly- 
washed  underclothing  calls  up  keenly  the  thought 
of  a  pock-marked  old  woman  who  sewed  and 
patched  it  all,  and  laid  it  away  so  neatly  folded. 
He  puts  it  on  carefully,  feeling  almost  as  if  it 
were  Sunday  already. 

Now  and  again,  when  a  Sunday  seemed  too  long, 
Peer  would  drift  into  the  nearest  church.  What 
the  parson  said  was  all  very  good,  no  doubt,  but 
Peer  did  not  listen;  for  him  there  were  only  the 
hymns,  the  organ,  the  lofty  vaulted  roof,  the  col- 
oured windows.  Here,  too,  the  faces  of  the  people 
looked  otherwise  than  in  the  street  without; 
touched,  as  it  were,  by  some  reflection  from  all 
that  their  thoughts  aspired  to  reach.  And  it  was 
so  homelike  here.  Peer  even  felt  a  sort  of  kin- 
ship with  them  all,  though  every  soul  there  was 
a  total  stranger. 

But  at  last  one  day,  to  his  surprise,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  hymn,  a  voice  within  him  whispered  sud- 
denly: "You  should  write  to  your  sister.  She's 
as  much  alone  in  the  world  as  you  are. ' ' 

And  one  evening  Peer  sat  down  and  wrote.  He 
took  quite  a  lordly  tone,  saying  that  if  she  wanted 
help  in  any  way,  she  need  only  let  him  know.  And 
if  she  would  care  to  move  in  to  town,  she  could 


The  Great  Hunger  65 

come  and  live  with  him.  After  which  he  remained, 
her  affectionate  brother,  Peer  Holm,  engineer  ap- 
prentice. 

A  few  days  later  there  came  a  letter  addressed 
in  a  fine  slanting  hand.  Louise  had  just  been  con- 
firmed. The  farmer  she  was  with  wished  to  keep 
her  on  as  dairymaid  through  the  winter,  but  she 
was  afraid  the  work  would  be  too  heavy  for  her. 
So  she  was  coming  in  to  town  by  the  boat  arriv- 
ing on  Sunday  evening.  With  kind  regards,  his 
sister,  Louise  Hagen. 

Peer  was  rather  startled.  He  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  good  deal  on  his  shoulders. 

On  Sunday  evening  he  put  on  his  blue  suit  and 
stiff  felt  hat,  and  walked  down  to  the  quay.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  some  one  else  to 
look  after — he  was  to  be  a  father  and  benefactor 
from  now  on  to  some  one  worse  off  than  himself. 
This  was  something  new.  The  thought  came  back 
to  him  of  the  jolly  gentleman  who  had  come  driv- 
ing down  one  day  to  Trb'en  to  look  after  his  little 
son.  Yes,  that  was  the  way  to  do  things;  that 
was  the  sort  of  man  he  would  be.  And  invol- 
untarily he  fell  into  something  of  his  father's  look 
and  step,  his  smile,  his  lavish,  careless  air.  "Well, 
well — well,  well — well,  well,"  he  seemed  saying  to 
himself.  He  might  almost,  in  his  fancy,  have 
had  a  neat  iron-grey  beard  on  his  chin. 

The  little  green  steamboat  rounded  the  point 
and  lay  in  to  the  quay,  the  gangways  were  run 
out,  porters  jumped  aboard,  and  all  the  passen- 


66  The  Great  Hunger 

gers  came  bundling  ashore.  Peer  wondered  how 
he  was  to  know  her,  this  sister  whom  he  had  never 
seen. 

The  crowd  on  deck  soon  thinned,  and  people  be- 
gan moving  off  from  the  quay  into  the  town. 

Then  Peer  was  aware  of  a  young  peasant-girl, 
with  a  box  in  one  hand  and  a  violin-case  in  the 
other.  She  wore  a  grey  dress,  with  a  black  ker- 
chief over  her  fair  hair;  her  face  was  pale,  and 
finely  cut.  It  was  his  mother's  face;  his  mother 
as  a  girl  of  sixteen.  Now  she  was  looking  about 
her,  and  now  her  eyes  rested  on  him,  half  afraid, 
half  inquiring. 

"Is  it  you,  Louise?" 

"Is  that  you,  Peer?" 

They  stood  for  a  moment,  smiling  and  measur- 
ing each  other  with  their  eyes,  and  then  shook 
hands. 

Together  they  carried  the  box  up  through  the 
town,  and  Peer  was  so  much  of  a  townsman  al- 
ready that  he  felt  a  little  ashamed  to  find  himself 
walking  through  the  streets,  holding  one  end  of 
a  trunk,  with  a  peasant-girl  at  the  other.  And 
what  a  clatter  her  thick  shoes  made  on  the  pave- 
ment! But  all  the  time  he  was  ashamed  to  feel 
ashamed.  Those  blue  arch  eyes  of  hers,  con- 
stantly glancing  up  at  him,  what  were  they  say- 
ing? "Yes,  I  have  come,"  they  said — "and  I've 
no  one  but  you  in  all  the  world — and  here  I  am," 
they  kept  on  saying. 


The  Great  Hivnger  67 

"Can  you  play  that?"  lie  asked,  with  a  glance 
at  her  violin-case. 

"Oh  well;  my  playing 's  only  nonsense,"  she 
laughed.  And  she  told  how  the  old  sexton  she  had 
been  living  with  last  had  not  been  able  to  afford 
a  new  dress  for  her  confirmation,  and  had  given 
her  the  violin  instead. 

"Then  didn't  you  have  a  new  dress  to  be  con- 
firmed in?" 

"No." 

"But  wasn't  it — didn't  you  feel  horrible,  with 
the  other  girls  standing  by  you  all  dressed  up 
fine?" 

She  shut  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  "Oh,  yes — it 
was  horrid,"  she  said. 

A  little  farther  on  she  asked:  "Werfe  you 
boarded  out  at  a  lot  of  places?" 

"Five,  I  think." 

"Pooh — why,  that's  nothing.  I  was  at  nine,  I 
was. ' '  The  girl  was  smiling  again. 

When  they  came  up  to  his  room  she  stood  for 
a  moment  looking  round  the  place.  It  was  hardly 
what  she  had  expected  to  find.  And  she  had  not 
been  in  town  lodgings  before,  and  her  nose  wrin- 
kled up  a  little  as  she  smelt  the  close  air.  It 
seemed  so  stuffy,  and  so  dark. 

"We'll  light  the  lamp,"  he  said. 

Presently  she  laughed  a  little  shyly,  and  asked 
where  she  was  to  sleep. 

"Lord  bless  us,  you  may  well  askl"    Peer 


68  The  Great  Hunger 

scratched  his  head.  " There's  only  one  bed,  you 
see. ' '  At  that  they  both  burst  out  laughing. 

"The  one  of  us '11  have  to  sleep  on  the  floor," 
suggested  the  girl. 

"Eight.  The  very  thing,"  said  he,  delighted. 
"I've  two  pillows;  you  can  have  one.  And  two 
rugs — anyway,  you  won't  be  cold." 

"And  then  I  can  put  on  my  other  dress  over," 
she  said.  "And  maybe  you'll  have  an  old  over- 
coat  " 

"Splendid!  So  we  needn't  bother  any  more 
about  that." 

"But  where  do  you  get  your  food  from?"  She 
evidently  meant  to  have  everything  cleared  up  at 
once. 

Peer  felt  rather  ashamed  that  he  hadn't  money 
enough  to  invite  her  to  a  meal  at  an  eating-house 
then  and  there.  But  he  had  to  pay  his  teacher's 
fees  the  next  day;  and  his  store-box  wanted  re- 
filling too. 

"I  boil  the  coffee  on  the  stove  there  overnight," 
he  said,  "so  that  it's  all  ready  in  the  morning. 
And  the  dry  food  I  keep  in  that  box  there.  We'll 
see  about  some  supper  now."  He  opened  the  box, 
fished  out  a  loaf  and  some  butter,  and  put  the  ket- 
tle on  the  stove.  She  helped  him  to  clear  the  pa- 
pers off  the  table,  and  spread  the  feast  on  it. 
There  was  only  one  knife,  but  it  was  really  much 
better  fun  that  way  than  if  he  had  had  two.  And 
soon  they  were  seated  on  their  chairs — they  had 


The  Great  Hunger  69 

a  chair  each — having  their  first  meal  in  their  own 
home,  he  and  she  together. 

It  was  settled  that  Louise  should  sleep  on  the 
floor,  and  they  both  laughed  a  great  deal  as  he 
tucked  her  in  carefully  so  that  she  shouldn't  feel 
cold.  It  was  not  till  afterwards,  when  the  lamp 
was  out,  that  they  noticed  that  the  autumn  gales 
had  set  in,  and  there  was  a  loud  north-wester 
howling  over  the  housetops.  And  there  they  lay, 
chatting  to  each  other  in  the  dark,  before  falling 
asleep. 

It  seemed  a  strange  and  new  thing  to  Peer,  this 
really  having  a  relation  of  his  own — and  a  girl, 
too — a  young  woman.  There  she  lay  on  the  floor 
near  by  him,  and  from  now  on  he  was  responsible 
for  what  was  to  become  of  her  in  the  world.  How 
should  he  put  that  job  through? 

He  could  hear  her  turning  over.  The  floor  was 
hard,  very  likely. 

"Louise!" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  ever  see  mother?" 

"No." 

"Or  your  father?" 

* '  My  father  ? ' '    She  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"Yes,  haven't  you  ever  seen  him  either?" 

"Why,  how  should  I,  silly?  Who  says  that 
mother  knew  herself  who  it  was?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Peer  brought  out, 
rather  awkwardly:  "We're  all  alone,  then— you 
and  I." 


70  The  Great  Hunger 

"Yes — we  are  that." 

"Louise!  What  are  you  thinking  of  taking  to 
now?" 

"What  are  you?" 

So  Peer  told  her  all  his  plans.  She  said  nothing 
for  a  little  while — no  doubt  she  was  lying  thinking 
of  the  grand  things  he  had  before  him. 

At  last  she  spoke.  "Do  you  think — does  it  cost 
very  much  to  learn  to  be  a  midwife?" 

"A  midwife — is  that  what  you  want  to  be,  girl?" 
Peer  couldn't  help  laughing.  So  this  was  what 
she  had  been  planning  in  these  days — since  he  had 
offered  to  help  her  on  in  the  world. 

"Do  you  think  my  hands  are  too  big?"  she  ven- 
tured presently — he  could  just  hear  the  whisper. 

Peer  felt  a  pang  of  pity.  He  had  noticed  al- 
ready how  ill  the  red  swollen  hands  matched  her 
pale  clear-cut  face,  and  he  knew  that  in  the  coun- 
try, when  any  one  has  small,  fine  hands,  people 
call  them  "midwife's  hands." 

"We'll  manage  it  somehow,  I  daresay,"  said 
Peer,  turning  round  to  the  wall.  He  had  heard 
that  it  cost  several  hundred  crowns  to  go  through 
the  course  at  the  midwifery  school.  It  would  be 
years  before  he  could  get  together  anything  like 
that  sum.  Poor  girl,  it  looked  as  if  she  would 
have  a  long  time  to  wait. 

After  that  they  fell  silent.  The  north-wester 
roared  over  the  housetops,  and  presently  brother 
and  sister  were  asleep. 

When  Peer  awoke  the  next  morning,  Louise 


The  Great  Hunger  71 

was  about  already,  making  coffee  over  the  little 
stove.  Then  she  opened  her  box,  took  out  a  yel- 
low petticoat  and  hung  it  on  a  nail,  placed  a  pair 
of  new  shoes  against  the  wall,  lifted  out  some 
under-linen  and  woollen  stockings,  looked  at  them, 
and  put  them  back  again.  The  little  box  held  all 
her  worldly  goods. 

As  Peer  was  getting  up:  "Gracious  mercy!" 
she  cried  suddenly,  "what  is  that  awful  noise 
down  in  the  yard?" 

"Oh,  that's  nothing  to  worry  about,"  said 
Peer.  "It's  only  the  job-master  and  his  wife. 
They  carry  on  like  that  every  blessed  morning; 
you'll  soon  get  used  to  it." 

Soon  they  were  seated  once  more  at  the  little 
table,  drinking  coffee  and  laughing  and  looking  at 
each  other.  Louise  had  found  time  to  do  her  hair 
— the  two  fair  plaits  hung  down  over  her  shoul- 
ders. 

It  was  time  for  Peer  to  be  off,  and,  warning 
the  girl  not  to  go  too  far  from  home  and  get  lost, 
he  ran  down  the  stairs. 

At  the  works  he  met  Klaus  Brock,  and  told  him 
that  his  sister  had  come  to  town. 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  her!" 
asked  Klaus. 

"Oh,  she'll  stay  with  me  for  the  present." 

"Stay  with  you?  But  you've  only  got  one  room 
and  one  bed,  man!" 

"Well — she  can  sleep  on  the  floor." 


72  The  Great  Hunger 

"She?  Your  sister?  She's  to  sleep  on  the  floor 
— and  you  in  the  bed ! ' '  gasped  Klaus. 

Peer  saw  he  had  made  a  mistake  again.  "Of 
course  I  was  only  fooling, "  he  hastened  to  say. 
"Of  course  it's  Louise  that's  to  have  the  bed." 

When  he  came  home  he  found  she  had  borrowed 
a  frying-pan  from  the  carter's  wife,  and  had 
fried  some  bacon  and  boiled  potatoes ;  so  that  they 
sat  down  to  a  dinner  fit  for  a  prince. 

But  when  the  girl's  eyes  fell  on  the  coloured 
print  on  the  wall,  and  she  asked  if  it  was  a  paint- 
ing, Peer  became  very  grand  at  once.  "That — a 
painting?  Why,  that's  only  an  oleograph,  silly! 
No,  I'll  take  you  along  to  the  Art  Gallery  one  day, 
and  show  you  what  real  paintings  are  like. ' '  And 
he  sat  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  table, 
and  saying:  "Well,  well — well,  well,  well!" 

They  agreed  that  Louise  had  better  look  out  at 
once  for  some  work  to  help  things  along.  And  at 
the  first  eating-house  they  tried,  she  was  taken  on 
at  once  in  the  kitchen  to  wash  the  floor  and  peel 
potatoes. 

When  bedtime  came  he  insisted  on  Louise  tak- 
ing the  bed.  "Of  course  all  that  was  only  a  joke 
last  night,"  he  explained.  "Here  in  town  women 
always  have  the  best  of  everything — that's  what's 
called  manners."  As  he  stretched  himself  on  the 
hard  floor,  he  had  a  strange  new  feeling.  The 
narrow  little  garret  seemed  to  have  widened  out 
now  that  he  had  to  find  room  in  it  for  a  guest. 
There  was  something  not  unpleasant  even  in  lying 


The  Great  Hunger  73 

»     f  

on  the  hard  floor,  since  he  had  chosen  to  do  it  for 
some  one  else's  sake. 

After  the  lamp  was  out  he  lay  for  a  while,  lis- 
tening to  her  breathing.  Then  at  last : 

"  Louise. " 

"Yes!" 

"Is  your  father — was  his  name  Hagen?" 

"Yes.    It  says  so  on  the  certificate." 

"Then  you're  Froken  Hagen.  Sounds  quite 
fine,  doesn't  it?" 

"Uf  1    Now  you're  making  fun  of  me." 

"And  when  you're  a  midwife,  Froken  Hagen 
might  quite  well  marry  a  doctor,  you  know." 

"Silly!  There's  no  chance — with  hands  like 
mine." 

"Do  you  think  your  hands  are  too  big  for  you 
to  marry  a  doctor?" 

"Uf !  you  are  a  crazy  thing.    Ha-ha-ha!" 

"Ha-ha-ha!" 

They  both  snuggled  down  under  the  clothes, 
with  the  sense  of  ease  and  peace  that  comes  from 
sharing  a  room  with  a  good  friend  in  a  happy 
humour. 

"Well,  good-night,  Louise." 

"Good-night,  Peer." 


Chapter  VI 

So  things  went  on  till  winter  was  far  spent.  Now 
that  Louise,  too,  was  a  wage-earner,  and  could 
help  with  the  expenses,  they  could  dine  luxuriously 
at  an  eating-house  every  day,  if  they  pleased,  on 
meat-cakes  at  fourpence  a  portion.  They  man- 
aged to  get  a  bed  for  Peer  that  could  be  folded 
up  during  the  day,  and  soon  learned,  too,  that 
good  manners  required  they  should  hang  up 
Louise's  big  woollen  shawl  between  them  as  a 
modest  screen  while  they  were  dressing  and  un- 
dressing. And  Louise  began  to  drop  her  country 
speech  and  talk  city-fashion  like  her  brother. 

One  thought  often  came  to  Peer  as  he  lay  awake. 
"The  girl  is  the  very  image  of  mother,  that's  cer- 
tain— what  if  she  were  to  go  the  same  way?  Well, 
no,  that  she  shall  not.  You're  surely  man  enough 
to  see  to  that.  Nothing  of  that  sort  shall  happen, 
my  dear  Froken  Hagen." 

They  saw  but  little  of  each  other  during  the  day, 
though,  for  they  were  apart  from  early  in  the 
morning  till  he  came  home  in  the  evening.  And 
when  he  lectured  her,  and  warned  her  to  be  care- 
ful and  take  no  notice  of  men  who  tried  to  speak 
to  her,  Louise  only  laughed.  When  Klaus  Brock 
came  up  one  day  to  visit  them,  and  made  great 

74 


The  Great  Hunger  75 

play  with  his  eyes  while  he  talked  to  her,  Peer 
felt  much  inclined  to  take  him  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck  and  throw  him  downstairs. 

"When  Christmas-time  was  near  they  would 
wander  in  the  long  evenings  through  the  streets 
and  look  in  at  the  dazzlingly  lit  shop-windows, 
with  their  tempting,  glittering  show  of  gold  and 
finery.  Louise  kept  asking  continually  how  much 
he  thought  this  thing  or  that  cost — that  lace,  or 
the  cloak,  or  the  stockings,  or  those  gold  brooches. 
"Wait  till  you  marry  that  doctor,"  Peer  would 
say,  "then  you  can  buy  all  those  things."  So 
far  neither  of  them  had  an  overcoat,  but  Peer 
turned  up  his  coat-collar  when  he  felt  cold,  and 
Louise  made  the  most  of  her  thick  woollen  dress 
and  a  pair  of  good  country  gloves  that  kept  her 
quite  warm.  And  she  had  adventured  on  a  hat 
now,  in  place  of  her  kerchief,  and  couldn't  help 
glancing  round,  thinking  people  must  notice  how 
fine  she  was. 

On  Christmas  Eve  he  carried  up  buckets  of 
water  from  the  yard,  and  she  had  a  great  scrub- 
bing-out  of  the  whole  room.  And  then  they  in 
their  turn  had  a  good  wash,  helping  each  other  in 
country  fashion  to  scrub  shoulders  and  back. 

Peer  was  enough  of  a  townsman  now  to  have 
laid  in  a  few  little  presents  to  give  his  sister ;  but 
the  girl,  who  had  not  been  used  to  such  doings, 
had  nothing  for  him,  and  wept  a  good  deal  when 
she  realised  it.  They  ate  cakes  from  the  confec- 
tioner's with  syrup  over  them,  and  drank  choco- 


76  The  Great  Hunger 

late,  and  then  Louise  played  a  hymn-tune,  in  her 
best  style,  on  her  violin,  and  Peer  read  the  Christ- 
mas lessons  from  the  prayer-book — it  was  all  just 
like  what  they  used  to  do  at  Troen  on  Christmas 
Eve.  And  that  night,  after  the  lamp  was  put  out, 
they  lay  awake  talking  over  plans  for  the  future. 
They  promised  each  other  that  when  they  had 
got  well  on  in  the  world,  he  in  his  line  and  she 
in  hers,  they  would  manage  to  live  near  each  other, 
so  that  their  children  could  play  together  and 
grow  up  good  friends.  Didn't  she  think  that  was 
a  good  idea!  Yes,  indeed  she  did.  And  did  he 
really  mean  it?  Yes,  of  course  he  meant  it,  really. 

But  later  on  in  the  winter,  when  she  sat  at  home 
in  the  evenings  waiting  for  him — he  often  worked 
overtime — she  was  sometimes  almost  afraid. 
There  was  his  step  on  the  stairs  I  If  it  was  hur- 
ried and  eager  she  would  tremble  a  little.  For 
the  moment  he  was  inside  the  door  he  would  burst 
out:  "Hurrah,  my  girl!  I've  learnt  something 
new  to-day,  I  tell  you!"  "Have  you,  Peer!" 
And  then  out  would  pour  a  torrent  of  talk  about 
motors  and  power  and  pressures  and  cylinders 
and  cranes  and  screws,  and  such-like.  She  would 
sit  and  listen  and  smile,  but  of  course  understood 
not  a  word  of  it  all,  and  as  soon  as  Peer  discovered 
this  he  would  get  perfectly  furious,  and  call  her 
a  little  blockhead. 

Then  there  were  the  long  evenings  when  he  sat 
at  home  reading,  by  himself  or  with  his  teacher, 
and  she  had  to  sit  so  desperately  still  that  she 


The  Great  Hunger  77 

hardly  dared  take  a  stitch  with  her  needle.  But 
one  day  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  his  sister 
ought  to  be  studying  too;  so  he  set  her  a  piece 
of  history  to  learn  by  the  next  evening.  But  time 
to  learn  it — where  was  that  to  come  from!  And 
then  he  started  her  writing  to  his  dictation,  to 
improve  her  spelling — and  all  the  time  she  kept 
dropping  off  to  sleep.  She  had  washed  so  many 
floors  and  peeled  so  many  potatoes  in  the  daytime 
that  now  her  body  felt  like  lead. 

"Look  here,  my  fine  girl!"  he  would  storm  at 
her,  raging  up  and  down  the  room,  "if  you  think 
you  can  get  on  in  the  world  without  education, 
you're  most  infernally  mistaken."  He  succeeded 
in  reducing  her  to  tears — but  it  wasn't  long  be- 
fore her  head  had  fallen  forward  on  the  table 
again  and  she  was  fast  asleep.  So  he  realised 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  help  her  to  bed — • 
as  quietly  as  possible,  so  as  not  to  wake  her  up. 

Some  way  on  in  the  spring  Peer  fell  sick.  When 
the  doctor  came,  he  looked  round  the  room, 
sniffed,  and  frowned.  "Do  you  call  this  a  place 
for  human  beings  to  live  in?"  he  asked  Louise, 
who  had  taken  the  day  off.  "How  can  you  expect 
to  keep  well?" 

He  examined  Peer,  who  lay  coughing,  his  face 
a  burning  red.  "Yes,  yes — just  as  I  expected. 
Inflammation  of  the  lungs."  He  glanced  round 
the  room  once  more.  "Better  get  him  off  to  the 
hospital  at  once,"  he  said. 

Louise  sat  there  in  terror  at  the  idea  that  Peer 


78  The  Great  Hunger 

was  to  be  taken  away.  And  then,  as  the  doctor 
was  going,  he  looked  at  her  more  closely,  and  said : 
"You'd  do  well  to  be  a  bit  careful  yourself,  my 
good  girl.  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  a  change 
to  a  decent  room,  with  a  little  more  light  and  air, 
pretty  badly.  Good-morning." 

Soon  after  he  was  gone  the  hospital  ambulance 
arrived.  Peer  was  carried  down  the  stairs  on  a 
stretcher,  and  the  green-painted  box  on  wheels 
opened  its  door  and  swallowed  him  up ;  and  they 
would  not  even  let  her  go  with  him.  All  through 
the  evening  she  sat  in  their  room  alone,  sobbing. 

The  hospital  was  one  of  the  good  old-fashioned 
kind  that  people  don't  come  near  if  they  can  help 
it,  because  the  walls  seem  to  reek  of  the  discom- 
fort and  wretchedness  that  reign  inside.  The 
general  wards — where  the  poor  folks  went — were 
always  so  overcrowded  that  patients  with  all  sorts 
of  different  diseases  had  to  be  packed  into  the 
same  rooms,  and  often  infected  each  other.  When 
an  operation  was  to  be  performed,  things  were 
managed  in  the  most  cheerfully  casual  way:  the 
patient  was  laid  on  a  stretcher  and  carried  across 
the  open  yard,  often  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and 
as  he  was  always  covered  up  with  a  rug,  the  others 
usually  thought  he  was  being  taken  off  to  the 
dead-house. 

When  Peer  opened  his  eyes,  he  was  aware  of  a 
man  in  a  white  blouse  standing  by  the  foot  of  his 
bed.  "Why,  I  believe  he's  coming-to,"  said  the 
man,  who  seemed  to  be  a  doctor.  Peer  found  out 


The  Great  Hunger  79 

afterwards  from  a  nurse  that  he  had  been  uncon- 
scious for  more  than  twenty-four  hours. 

He  lay  there,  day  after  day,  conscious  of  noth- 
ing but  the  stabbing  of  a  red-hot  iron  boring 
through  his  chest  and  cutting  off  his  breathing. 
Some  one  would  come  every  now  and  then  and 
pour  port  wine  and  naphtha  into  his  mouth ;  and 
morning  and  evening  he  was  washed  carefully 
with  warm  water  by  gentle  hands.  But  little  by 
little  the  room  grew  lighter,  and  his  gruel  began 
to  have  some  taste.  And  at  last  he  began  to  dis- 
tinguish the  people  in  the  beds  near  by,  and  to 
chat  with  them. 

On  his  right  lay  a  black-haired,  yellow-faced 
dock  labourer  with  a  broken  nose.  His  disease, 
whatever  it  might  be,  was  clearly  different  from 
Peer's.  He  plagued  the  nurse  with  foul-mouthed 
complaints  of  the  food,  swearing  he  would  report 
about  it.  On  the  other  side  lay  an  emaciated  cob- 
bler with  a  soft  brown  beard  like  the  Christ  pic- 
tures, and  cheeks  glowing  with  fever.  He  was 
dying  of  cancer.  At  right  angles  with  him  lay 
a  man  with  the  face  and  figure  of  a  prophet — a 
Moses — all  bushy  white  hair  and  beard;  he  was 
in  the  last  stage  of  consumption,  and  his  cough 
was  like  a  riveting  machine.  "Huh!"  he  would 
groan,  "if  only  I  could  get  across  to  Germany 
there 'd  be  a  chance  for  me  yet."  Beside  him  was 
a  fellow  with  short  beard  and  piercing  eyes,  who 
was  a  little  off  his  head,  and  imagined  himself  a 
corporal  of  the  Guards.  Often  at  night  the  others 


80  The  Great  Hunger 

would  be  wakened  by  his  springing  upright  in  bed 
and  calling  out:  "  Attention  I" 

One  man  lay  moaning  and  groaning  all  the  time, 
turning  from  side  to  side  of  a  body  covered  with 
sores.  But  one  day  he  managed  to  swallow  some 
of  the  alcohol  they  used  as  lotion,  and  after  that 
lay  singing  and  weeping  alternately.  And  there 
was  a  red-bearded  man  with  glasses,  a  commer- 
cial traveller;  he  had  put  a  bullet  into  his  head, 
but  the  doctors  had  managed  to  get  it  out  again, 
and  now  he  lay  and  praised  the  Lord  for  his 
miraculous  deliverance. 

It  was  strange  to  Peer  to  lie  awake  at  night  in 
this  great  room  in  the  dim  light  of  the  night-lamp ; 
it  seemed  as  if  beings  from  the  land  of  the  dead 
were  stirring  in  those  beds  round  about  him.  But 
in  the  daytime,  when  friends  and  relations  of  the 
patients  came  a-visiting,  Peer  could  hardly  keep 
from  crying.  The  cobbler  had  a  wife  and  a  little 
girl  who  came  and  sat  beside  him,  gazing  at  him 
as  if  they  could  never  let  him  go.  The  prophet, 
too,  had  a  wife,  who  wept  inconsolably — and  all 
the  rest  seemed  to  have  some  one  or  other  to 
care  for  them.  But  where  was  Louise — why  did 
Louise  never  come! 

The  man  on  the  right  had  a  sister,  who  came 
sweeping  in,  gorgeous  in  her  trailing  soiled  silk 
dress.  Her  shoes  were  down  at  heel,  but  her  hat 
was  a  wonder,  with  enormous  plumes.  "Hallo, 
Ugly!  how  goes  it?"  she  said;  and  sat  down  and 
crossed  her  legs.  Then  the  pair  would  talk  mys- 


The  Great  Hunger  81 

teriously  of  people  with  strange  names:  "The 
Flea,"  "Cockroach,"  "The  Galliot,"  "King 
Ring,"  and  the  like,  evidently  friends  of  theirs. 
One  day  she  managed  to  bring  in  a  small  bottle 
of  brandy,  a  present  from  "The  Hedgehog,"  and 
smuggle  it  under  the  bedclothes.  As  soon  as  she 
had  gone,  and  the  coast  was  clear,  Peer's  neigh- 
bour drew  out  the  bottle,  managed  to  work  the 
cork  out,  and  offered  him  a  drink.  "Here's  luck, 
sonny;  do  you  good."  No — Peer  would  rather 
not.  Then  followed  a  gurgling  sound  from  the 
docker's  bed,  and  soon  he  too  was  lying  singing 
at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

At  last  one  day  Louise  came.  She  was  wearing 
her  neat  hat,  and  had  a  little  bundle  in  her  hand, 
and  as  she  came  in,  looking  round  the  room,  the 
close  air  of  the  sick-ward  seemed  to  turn  her  a 
little  faint.  But  then  she  caught  sight  of  Peer, 
and  smiled,  and  came  cautiously  to  him,  holding 
out  her  hand.  She  was  astonished  to  find  him  so 
changed.  But  as  she  sat  down  by  his  pillow  she 
was  still  smiling,  though  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

"So  you've  come  at  last,  then!"  said  Peer. 

"They  wouldn't  let  me  in  before,"  she  said  with 
a  sob.  And  then  Peer  learned  that  she  had  come 
there  every  single  day,  but  only  to  be  told  that 
he  was  too  ill  to  see  visitors. 

The  man  with  the  broken  nose  craned  his  head 
forward  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  modest  young 
girl.  And  meanwhile  she  was  pulling  out  of  the 


82  The  Great  Hunger 

bundle  the  offering  she  had  brought — a  bottle  of 
lemonade  and  some  oranges. 

But  it  was  a  day  or  two  later  that  something 
happened  which  Peer  was  often  to  remember  in 
the  days  to  come. 

He  had  been  dozing  through  the  afternoon, 
and  when  he  woke  the  lamp  was  lit,  and  a  dull 
yellow  half-light  lay  over  the  ward.  The  others 
seemed  to  be  sleeping;  all  was  very  quiet,  only 
the  man  with  the  sores  was  whimpering  softly. 
Then  the  door  opened,  and  Peer  saw  Louise  glide 
in,  softly  and  cautiously,  with  her  violin-case 
under  her  arm.  She  did  not  come  over  to  where 
her  brother  lay,  but  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
ward,  and,  taking  out  her  violin,  began  to  play 
the  Easter  hymn:  "The  mighty  host  in  white 
array."1 

The  man  with  the  sores  ceased  whimpering ;  the 
patients  in  the  beds  round  about  opened  their 
eyes.  The  docker  with  the  broken  nose  sat  up  in 
bed,  and  the  cobbler,  roused  from  his  feverish 
dream,  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow  and  whispered : 
"It  is  the  Redeemer.  I  knew  Thou  wouldst 
come."  Then  there  was  silence.  Louise  stood 
there  with  eyes  fixed  on  her  violin,  playing  her 
simple  best.  The  consumptive  raised  his  head  and 
forgot  to  cough;  the  corporal  slowly  stiffened  his 
body  to  attention;  the  commercial  traveller 
folded  his  hands  and  stared  before  him.  The 
simple  tones  of  the  hymn  seemed  to  be  giving 
»"Den  store  hvide  Flok  vi  se." 


The  Great  Hunger  83 

new  life  to  all  these  unfortunates ;  the  light  of  it 
was  in  their  faces.  But  to  Peer,  watching  his  sis- 
ter as  she  stood  there  in  the  half-light,  it  seemed 
as  if  she  grew  to  be  one  with  the  hymn  itself,  and 
that  wings  to  soar  were  given  her. 

When  she  had  finished,  she  came  softly  over  to 
his  bed,  stroked  his  forehead  with  her  swollen 
hand,  then  glided  out  and  disappeared  as  silently 
as  she  had  come. 

For  a  long  time  all  was  silent  in  the  dismal 
ward,  until  at  last  the  dying  cobbler  murmured: 
"I  thank  Thee.  I  knew — I  knew  Thou  wert  not 
far  away." 

When  Peer  left  the  hospital,  the  doctor  said 
he  had  better  not  begin  work  again  at  once;  he 
should  take  a  holiday  in  the  country  and  pick  up 
his  strength.  "Easy  enough  for  you  to  talk," 
thought  Peer,  and  a  couple  of  days  later  he  was 
at  the  workshop  again. 

But  his  ways  with  his  sister  were  more  con- 
siderate than  before,  and  he  searched  about  until 
he  had  found  her  a  place  as  seamstress,  and  saved 
her  from  her  heavy  floor-scrubbing. 

And  soon  Louise  began  to  notice  with  delight 
that  her  hands  were  much  less  red  and  swollen 
than  they  had  been;  they  were  actually  getting 
soft  and  pretty  by  degrees. 

Next  winter  she  sat  at  home  in  the  evenings 
while  he  read,  and  made  herself  a  dress  and  cloak 
and  trimmed  a  new  hat,  so  that  Peer  soon  had 
quite  an  elegant  young  lady  to  walk  out  with. 


The  Great  Hunger 


But  when  men  turned  round  to  look  at  her  as  she 
passed,  he  would  scowl  and  clench  his  fists.  At 
last  one  day  this  was  too  much  for  Louise,  and 
she  rebelled.  "Now,  Peer,  I  tell  you  plainly  I 
won't  go  out  with  you  if  you  go  on  like  that." 

"All  right,  my  girl,"  he  growled.  "I'll  look 
after  you,  though,  never  fear.  We're  not  going 
to  have  mother's  story  over  again  with  you." 

"Well,  but,  after  all,  I'm  a  grown-up-girl,  and 
you  can't  prevent  people  looking  at  me,  idiot!" 

Klaus  Brock  had  been  entered  at  the  Technical 
College  that  autumn,  and  went  about  now  with 
the  College  badge  in  his  cap,  and  sported  a  walk- 
ing-stick and  a  cigarette.  He  had  grown  into  a 
big,  broad-shouldered  fellow,  and  walked  with  a 
little  swing  in  his  step;  a  thick  shock  of  black 
hair  fell  over  his  forehead,  and  he  had  a  way  of 
looking  about  him  as  if  to  say:  "Anything  the 
matter!  All  right,  I'm  ready!" 

One  evening  he  came  in  and  asked  Louise  to  go 
with  him  to  the  theatre.  The  young  girl  blushed 
red  with  joy,  and  Peer  could  not  refuse;  but  he 
was  waiting  for  them  outside  the  yard  gate  when 
they  came  back.  On  a  Sunday  soon  after  Klaus 
was  there  again,  asking  her  to  come  out  for  a 
drive.  This  time  she  did  not  even  look  to  Peer  for 
leave,  but  said  "yes"  at  once.  "Just  you  wait," 
said  Peer  to  himself.  And  when  she  came  back 
that  evening  he  read  her  a  terrific  lecture. 

Soon  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  the  girl  was 
going  about  with  half -shut  eyes,  dreaming  dreams 


The  Great  Hunger  85 

of  which  she  would  never  speak  to  him.  And  as 
the  days  went  on  her  hands  grew  whiter,  and  she 
moved  more  lightly,  as  if  to  the  rhythm  of  un- 
heard music.  Always  as  she  went  about  the 
room  on  her  household  tasks  she  was  crooning 
some  song;  it  seemed  that  there  was  some  joy 
in  her  soul  that  must  find  an  outlet. 

One  Saturday  in  the  late  spring  she  had  just 
come  home,  and  was  getting  the  supper,  when 
Peer  came  tramping  in,  dressed  in  his  best  and 
carrying  a  parcel. 

*  *  Hi,  girl !  Here  you  are !  We  're  going  to  have 
a  rare  old  feast  to-night." 

" Why— what  is  it  all  about?" 

"I've  passed  my  entrance  exam,  for  the  Tech- 
nical— hurrah!  Next  autumn — next  autumn — I'll 
be  a  student!" 

* '  Oh,  splendid !  I  am  so  glad ! ' '  And  she  dried 
her  hand  and  grasped  his. 

"Here  you  are — sausages,  anchovies — and 
here's  a  bottle  of  brandy — the  first  I  ever  bought 
in  my  life.  Klaus  is  coming  up  later  on  to  have 
a  glass  of  toddy.  And  here's  cheese.  We'll 
make  things  hum  to-night. ' ' 

Klaus  came,  and  the  two  youths  drank  toddy 
and  smoked  and  made  speeches,  and  Louise  played 
patriotic  songs  on  her  violin,  and  Klaus  gazed  at 
her  and  asked  for  "more — more." 

When  he  left,  Peer  went  with  him,  and  as  the 
two  walked  down  the  street,  Klaus  took  his 
friend's  arm,  and  pointed  to  the  pale  moon  rid- 


86  The  Great  Hunger 

ing  high  above  the  fjord,  and  vowed  never  to 
give  him  up,  till  he  stood  at  the  very  top  of  the 
tree — never,  never!  Besides,  he  was  a  Socialist 
now,  he  said,  and  meant  to  raise  a  revolt  against 
all  class  distinctions.  And  Lonise — Louise  was 
the  most  glorious  girl  in  all  the  world — and  now 
— and  now — Peer  might  just  as  well  know  it 
sooner  as  later — they  were  as  good  as  engaged 
to  be  married,  he  and  Louise. 

Peer  pushed  him  away,  and  stood  staring  at 
him.  "Go  home  now,  and  go  to  bed,"  he  said. 

"Ha!  You  think  I'm  not  man  enough  to  defy 
my  people — to  defy  the  whole  world!" 

"Good-night,"  said  Peer. 

Next  morning,  as  Louise  lay  in  bed — she  had 
asked  to  have  her  breakfast  there  for  once  in  a 
way — she  suddenly  began  to  laugh.  "What  are 
you  about  now?"  she  asked  teasingly. 

"Shaving,"  said  Peer,  beginning  operations. 

"Shaving!  Are  you  so  desperate  to  be  grand 
to-day  that  you  must  scrape  all  your  skin  off! 
You  know  there's  nothing  else  to  shave." 

"You  hold  your  tongue.  Little  do  you  know 
what  IVe  got  in  front  of  me  to-day." 

"What  can  it  be?  You're  not  going  courting 
an  old  widow  with  twelve  children,  are  you?" 

"If  you  want  to  know,  I'm  going  to  that  school- 
master fellow,  and  going  to  wring  my  savings- 
bank  book  out  of  him." 

Louise  sat  up  at  this.  "My  great  goodness!" 
she  said. 


The  Great  Hunger  87 

Yes ;  lie  had  been  working  himself  up  to  this  for 
a  year  or  more,  and  now  he  was  going  to  do  it. 
To-day  he  would  show  what  he  was  made  of — - 
whether  he  was  a  snivelling  child,  or  a  man  that 
could  stand  up  to  any  dressing-gown  in  the  world. 
He  was  shaving  for  the  first  time — quite  true. 
And  the  reason  was  that  it  was  no  ordinary  day, 
but  a  great  occasion. 

His  toilet  over,  he  put  on  his  best  hat  with  a 
flourish,  and  set  out. 

Louise  stayed  at  home  all  the  morning,  waiting 
for  his  return.  And  at  last  she  heard  him,  on  the 
stairs. 

"Puh!"  he  said,  and  stood  still  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

4 'Well?    Did  you  get  it?" 

He  laughed,  wiped  his  forehead,  and  drew  a 
green-covered  book  from  his  coat-pocket.  "Here 
we  are,  my  girl — there's  fifty  crowns  a  month  for 
three  years.  It's  going  to  be  a  bit  of  a  pinch,  with 
fees  and  books,  and  living  and  clothes  into  the 
bargain.  But  we'll  do  it.  Father  was  one  of  the 
right  sort,  I  don't  care  what  they  say." 

"But  how  did  you  manage  it?  What  did  the 
schoolmaster  say?" 

"  'Do  you  suppose  that  you — you  with  your 
antecedents — could  ever  pass  into  the  Technical 
College?'  he  said.  And  I  told  him  I  had  passed. 
'  Good  heavens !  How  could  you  possibly  qualify  ? ' 
and  he  shifted  his  glasses  down  his  nose.  And 
then:  'Oh,  no !  it's  no  good  coming  here  with  tales 


88  The  Great  Hunger 

of  that  sort,  my  lad.'  Well,  then  I  showed  him 
the  certificate,  and  he  got  much  meeker.  'Keally !' 
he  said,  and  'Dear  me!'  and  all  that.  But  I  say, 
Louise — there's  another  Holm  entered  for  the 
autumn  term." 

"Peer,  you  don't  mean — your  half-brother?" 

"And  old  Dressing-gown  said  it  would  never 
do — never !  But  I  said  it  seemed  to  me  there  must 
be  room  in  the  world  for  me  as  well,  and  I'd  like 
that  bank  book  now,  I  said.  'You  seem  to  fancy 
you  have  some  legal  right  to  it,'  he  said,  and  got 
perfectly  furious.  Then  I  hinted  that  I'd  rather 
ask  a  lawyer  about  it  and  make  sure,  and  at  that 
he  regularly  boiled  with  rage  and  waved  his  arms 
all  about.  But  he  gave  in  pretty  soon  all  the 
same — said  he  washed  his  hands  of  the  whole 
thing.  'And  besides,'  he  said,  'your  name's 
Troen,  you  know — Peer  Troen.'  Ho-ho-ho — Peer 
Troen !  Wouldn  't  he  like  it !  Tra-la-la-la ! — I  say, 
let's  go  out  and  get  a  little  fresh  air." 

Peer  said  nothing  then  or  after  about  Klaus 
Brock,  and  Klaus  himself  was  going  off  home  for 
the  summer  holidays.  As  the  summer  wore  on 
the  town  lay  baking  in  the  heat,  reeking  of  drains, 
and  the  air  from  the  stable  came  up  to  the  couple 
in  the  garret  so  heavy  and  foul  that  they  were 
sometimes  nearly  stifled. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Peer  one  day,  "we 
really  must  spend  a  few  shillings  more  on  house 
rent  and  get  a  decent  place  to  live  in." 

And  Louise  agreed.    For  till  the  time  came  for 


The  Great  Hunger  89 

him  to  join  the  College  in  the  autumn,  Peer  was 
obliged  to  stick  to  the  workshops;  he  could  not 
afford  a  holiday  just  now. 

One  morning  he  was  just  starting  with  a  work- 
ing gang  down  to  Stenkjaer  to  repair  some  dam- 
age in  the  engine-room  of  a  big  Russian  grain  boat, 
when  Louise  came  and  asked  him  to  look  at  her 
throat.  "It  hurts  so  here,"  she  said. 

Peer  took  a  spoon  and  pressed  down  her  tongue, 
but  could  not  see  anything  wrong.  ' '  Better  go  and 
see  the  doctor,  and  make  sure,"  he  said. 

But  the  girl  made  light  of  it.  "Oh,  nonsense !" 
she  said;  "it's  not  worth  troubling  about." 

Peer  was  away  for  over  a  week,  sleeping  on 
board  with  the  rest.  "When  he  came  back,  he  hur- 
ried home,  suddenly  thinking  of  Louise  and  her 
sore  throat.  He  found  the  job-master  greasing 
the  wheels  of  a  carriage,  while  his  wife  leaned  out 
of  a  window  scolding  at  him.  "Your  sister,"  re- 
peated the  carter,  turning  round  his  face  with  its 
great  red  lump  of  nose — "she's  gone  to  hospital — 
diphtheria  hospital — she  has.  Doctor  was  here 
over  a  week  ago  and  took  her  off.  They've  been 
here  since  poking  round  and  asking  who  she  was 
and  where  she  belonged — well,  we  didn't  know. 
And  asking  where  you  were,  too — and  we  didn't 
know  either.  She  was  real  bad,  if  you  ask 
me " 

Peer  hastened  off.  It  was  a  hot  day,  and  the 
air  was  close  and  heavy.  On  he  went — all  down 
the  whole  length  of  Sea  Street,  through  the  fisher- 


90  The  Great  Hunger 

men's  quarter,  and  a  good  way  further  out  round 
the  bay.  And  then  he  saw  a  cart  coming  towards 
him,  an  ordinary  work-cart,  with  a  coffin  on  it. 
The  driver  sat  on  the  cart,  and  another  man 
walked  behind,  hat  in  hand.  Peer  ran  on,  and  at 
last  came  in  sight  of  the  long  yellow  building  at 
the  far  end  of  the  bay.  He  remembered  all  the 
horrible  stories  he  had  heard  about  the  treatment 
of  diphtheria  patients — how  their  throats  had  to 
be  cut  open  to  give  them  air,  or  something  burned 
out  of  them  with  red-hot  irons — oh!  "When  at 
last  he  had  reached  the  high  fence  and  rung  the 
bell,  he  stood  breathless  and  dripping  with  sweat, 
leaning  against  the  gate. 

There  was  a  sound  of  steps  within,  a  key  was 
turned,  and  a  porter  with  a  red  moustache  and 
freckles  about  his  hard  blue  eyes  thrust  out  his 
head. 

""What  d'you  want  to  go  ringing  like  that  for?" 

"Frb'ken  Hagen — Louise  Hagen — is  she  better? 
How — how  is  she?" 

"Lou — Louise  Hagen?  A  girl  called  Louise 
Hagen?  Is  it  her  you've  come  to  ask  about?" 

"Yes.  She's  my  sister.  Tell  me — or — let  me  in 
to  see  her." 

"Wait  a  bit.  You  don't  mean  a  girl  that  was 
brought  in  here  about  a  week  ago?" 

"Yes,  yes — but  let  me  in." 

"We've  had  no  end  of  bother  and  trouble  about 
that  girl,  trying  to  find  out  where  she  came  from, 
and  if  she  had  people  here.  But,  of  course,  this 


The  Great  Hunger  91 

weather,  we  couldn't  possibly  keep  her  any  longer. 
Didn't  you  meet  a  coffin  on  a  cart  as  you  came 
along?" 

"What — what — you  don't  mean !" 

"Well,  you  should  have  come  before,  you  know. 
She  did  ask  a  lot  for  some  one  called  Peer.  And 
she  got  the  matron  to  write  somewhere — wasn't 
it  to  Levanger?  Were  you  the  fellow  she  was  ask- 
ing for?  So  you  came  at  last !  Oh,  well — she  died 
four  or  five  days  ago.  And  they're  just  gone  now 
to  bury  her,  in  St.  Mary's  Churchyard." 

Peer  turned  round  and  looked  out  over  the  bay 
at  the  town,  that  lay  sunlit  and  smoke-wreathed 
beyond.  Towards  the  town  he  began  to  walk,  but 
his  step  grew  quicker  and  quicker,  and  at  last  he 
took  off  his  cap  and  ran,  panting  and  sobbing  as 
he  went.  Have  I  been  drinking?  was  the  thought 
that  whirled  through  his  brain,  or  why  can't  I 
wake?  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  And  still  he  ran. 
There  was  no  cart  in  sight  as  yet ;  the  little  streets 
of  the  fisher-quarter  were  all  twists  and  turns. 
At  last  he  reached  Sea  Street  once  more,  and  there 
— there  far  ahead  was  the  slow-moving  cart.  Al- 
most at  once  it  turned  off  to  the  right  and  disap- 
peared, and  when  Peer  reached  the  turning,  it  was 
not  to  be  seen.  Still  he  ran  on  at  haphazard. 
There  seemed  to  be  other  people  in  the  streets — 
children  flying  red  balloons,  women  with  baskets, 
men  with  straw  hats  and  walking-sticks.  But  Peer 
marked  his  line,  and  ran  forward,  thrusting  people 
aside,,  upsetting  those  in  his  way,  and  dashing  on 


92  The  Great  Hunger 

again.  In  King  Street  lie  came  in  sight  of  the 
cart  once  more,  nearer  this  time.  The  man  walk- 
ing behind  it  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  had  red  curl- 
ing hair,  and  walked  with  a  curtsying  gait,  giving 
at  the  knees  and  turning  out  his  toes.  No  doubt 
he  made  his  living  as  mourner  at  funerals  to  which 
no  other  mourners  came.  As  the  cart  turned  into 
the  churchyard  Peer  came  up  with  it,  and  tried  to 
follow  at  a  walk,  but  stumbled  and  could  hardly 
keep  his  feet.  The  man  behind  the  cart  looked  at 
him.  "What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked. 
The  driver  looked  round,  but  drove  on  again  at 
once. 

The  cart  stopped,  and  Peer  stood  by,  leaning 
against  a  tree  for  support.  A  third  man  came  up 
— he  seemed  to  be  the  gravedigger — and  he  heard 
the  three  discussing  how  long  they  might  have  to 
wait  for  the  parson.  "The  time's  just  about  up, 
isn't  it?"  said  the  driver,  taking  out  his  watch. 
"Ay,  the  clerk  said  he'd  be  here  by  now,"  agreed 
the  gravedigger,  and  blew  his  nose. 
Soon  the  priest  came  in  sight,  wearing  his  black 
ibe  and  white  ruff;  there  were  doubtless  to  be 
other  funerals  that  day.  Peer  sank  down  on  a 
bench  and  looked  stupidly  on  while  the  coffin  was 
lifted  from  the  cart,  carried  to  the  grave,  and  low- 
ered down.  A  man  with  spectacles  and  a  red  nose 
came  up  with  a  hymn-book,  and  sang  something 
over  the  grave.  The  priest  lifted  the  spade — and 
at  the  sound  of  the  first  spadeful  of  earth  falling 


The  Great  Hunger  93 

on  Louise 's  coffin,  Peer  started  as  if  struck,  and  all 
but  fell  from  his  seat. 

When  he  looked  up  again,  the  place  was  de- 
serted. The  bell  was  ringing,  and  a  crowd  was 
collecting  in  another  part  of  the  churchyard.  Peer 
sat  where  he  was,  quite  still. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  gravedigger  came  to 
lock  the  gates,  he  had  to  take  the  young  man  by 
the  shoulder  and  shake  him  to  his  senses.  "Lock- 
ing-up  time,*'  he  said.  "You  must  go  now." 

Peer  rose  and  tried  to  walk,  and  by  and  by  he 
was  stumbling  blindly  out  through  the  gate  and 
down  the  street.  And  after  a  time  he  found  him- 
self climbing  a  flight  of  stairs  above  a  stable-yard. 
Once  in  his  room,  he  flung  himself  down  on  the  bed 
as  he  was,  and  lay  there  still. 

The  close  heat  of  the  day  had  broken  in  a  down- 
pour of  rain,  which  drummed  upon  the  roof  above 
his  head,  and  poured  in  torrents  through  the  gut- 
ters. Instinctively  Peer  started  up:  Louise  was 
out  in  the  rain — she  would  need  her  cloak.  He 
was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  as  if  to  find  it — then 
he  stopped  short,  and  sank  slowly  back  upon  the 
bed. 

He  drew  up  his  feet  under  him,  and  buried  his 
head  in  his  arms.  His  brain  was  full  of  changing, 
hurrying  visions,  of  storm  and  death,  of  human 
beings  helpless  in  a  universe  coldly  and  indiffer- 
ently ruled  by  a  will  that  knows  no  pity. 

Then  for  the  first  time  it  was  as  if  he  lifted  up 


94  The  Great  Hunger 

his  head  against  Heaven  itself  and  cried:  "There 
is  no  sense  in  all  this.  I  will  not  bear  it." 

Later  in  the  night,  when  he  found  himself  me- 
chanically folding  his  hands  for  the  evening  prayer 
he  had  learnt  to  say  as  a  child,  he  suddenly  burst 
out  laughing,  and  clenched  his  fists,  and  cried 
aloud:  "No,  no,  no — never — never  again." 

Once  more  it  came  to  him  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  God  like  the  schoolmaster — He  took  the 
side  of  those  who  were  well  off  already.  "Yes, 
they  who  have  parents  and  home  and  brothers  and 
sisters  and  worldly  goods — them  I  protect  and 
care  for.  But  here's  a  boy  alone  in  the  world, 
struggling  and  fighting  his  way  on  as  best  he  can 
— f  rom  him  I  will  take  the  only  thing  he  has.  That 
boy  is  nothing  to  any  one.  Let  him  be  punished 
because  he  is  poor,  and  cast  down  to  the  earth, 
for  there  is  none  to  care  for  him.  That  boy  is 
nothing  to  any  one — nothing."  Oh,  oh,  oh! — he 
clenched  his  fists  and  beat  them  against  the  wall. 

His  whole  little  world  was  broken  to  pieces. 
Either  God  did  not  exist  at  all,  or  He  was  cold 
and  pitiless — one  way  of  it  was  as  bad  as  the 
other.  The  heavenly  country  dissolved  into  cloud 
and  melted  away,  and  above  was  nothing  but 
empty  space.  No  more  folding  of  your  hands,  like 
a  fool !  Walk  on  the  earth,  and  lift  up  your  head, 
and  defy  Heaven  and  fate,  as  you  defied  the  school- 
master. Your  mother  has  no  need  of  you  to  save 
her — she  is  not  anywhere  any  more.  She  is  dead 
— dead  and  turned  to  clay;  and  more  than  that 


The  Great  Hunger  95 

there  is  not,  for  her  or  for  you  or  any  other  being 
in  this  world. 

Still  he  lay  there.  He  would  fain  have  slept, 
but  seemed  instead  to  sink  into  a  vague  far-away 
twilight  that  rocked  him — rocked  him  on  its  dark 
and  golden  waves.  And  now  he  heard  a  sound — 
what  was  it?  A  violin.  "The  mighty  host  in 
white  array."  Louise — is  it  you — and  playing? 
He  could  see  her  now,  out  there  in  the  twilight. 
How  pale  she  was!  But  still  she  played.  And 
now  he  understood  what  that  twilight  was. 

It  was  a  world  beyond  the  consciousness  of  daily 
life — and  that  world  belonged  to  him.  "Peer,  let 
me  stay  here. ' '  And  something  in  him  answered : 
"Yes,  you  shall  stay,  Louise.  Even  though  there 
is  no  God  and  no  immortality,  you  shall  stay 
here."  And  then  she  smiled.  And  still  she 
played.  And  it  was  as  though  he  were  building 
a  little  vaulted  chapel  for  her  in  defiance  of 
Heaven  and  of  God — as  though  he  were  ringing 
out  with  his  own  hands  a  great  eternal  chime  for 
her  sake.  What  was  happening  to  him?  There 
was  none  to  comfort  him,  yet  it  ended,  as  he  lay 
there,  with  his  pouring  out  something  of  his  inner- 
most being,  as  an  offering  to  all  that  lives,  to  the 
earth  and  the  stars,  until  all  seemed  rocking,  rock- 
ing with  him  on  the  stately  waves  of  the  psalm. 
He  lay  there  with  fast-closed  eyes,  stretching  out 
his  hands  as  though  afraid  to  wake,  and  find  it  all 
nothing  but  a  beautiful  dream. 


Chapter  VII 

THE  two-o'clock  bell  at  the  Technical  College  had 
just  begun  to  ring,  and  a  stream  of  students  ap- 
peared out  of  the  long  straggling  buildings  and 
poured  through  the  gate,  breaking  up  then  into 
little  knots  and  groups  that  went  their  several 
ways  into  the  town. 

It  was  a  motley  crowd  of  young  men  of  all  ages 
from  seventeen  to  thirty  or  more.  Students  of 
the  everlasting  type,  sent  here  by  their  parents  as 
a  last  resource,  for — "he  can  always  be  an  engi- 
neer"; young  sparks  who  paid  more  attention  to 
their  toilet  than  their  books,  and  hoped  to  "get 
through  somehow"  without  troubling  to  work;  and 
stiff  youths  of  soldierly  bearing,  who  had  been 
ploughed  for  the  Army,  but  who  likewise  could 
"always  be  engineers."  There  were  peasant-lads 
who  had  crammed  themselves  through  their  Inter- 
mediate at  a  spurt,  and  now  wore  the  College  cap 
above  their  rough  grey  homespun,  and  dreamed  of 
getting  through  in  no  time,  and  turning  into  great 
men  with  starched  cuffs  and  pince-nez.  There 
were  pale  young  enthusiasts,  too,  who  would  prob- 
ably end  as  actors;  and  there  were  also  quondam 
actors,  killed  by  the  critics,  but  still  sufficiently 
alive,  it  seemed,  "to  be  engineers."  And  as  the 

96 


The  Great  Hunger  97 

young  fellows  hurried  on  their  gay  and  careless 
way  through  the  town,  an  older  man  here  and 
there  might  look  round  after  them  with  a  smile  of 
some  sadness.  It  was  easy  to  say  what  fate 
awaited  most  of  them.  College  ended,  they  would 
he  scattered  like  birds  of  passage  throughout  the 
wide  world,  some  to  fall  by  sunstroke  in  Africa, 
or  be  murdered  by  natives  in  China,  others  to  be- 
come mining  kings  in  the  mountains  of  Peru,  or 
heads  of  great  factories  in  Siberia,  thousands  of 
miles  from  home  and  friends.  The  whole  planet 
was  their  home.  Only  a  few  of  them — not  always 
the  shining  lights — would  stay  at  home,  with  a 
post  on  the  State  railways,  to  sit  in  an  office  and 
watch  their  salaries  mount  by  increments  of  £12 
every  fifth  year. 

"That's  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  that  brother  of 
yours  that's  here,"  said  Klaus  Brock  to  Peer  one 
day,  as  they  were  walking  into  town  together  with 
their  books  under  their  arms. 

"Now,  look  here,  Klaus,  once  for  all,  be  good 
enough  to  stop  calling  him  my  brother.  And  an- 
other thing — you're  never  to  say  a  word  to  any 
one  about  my  father  having  been  anything  but  a 
farmer.  My  name's  Holm,  and  I'm  called  so  after 
my  father 's  farm.  Just  remember  that,  will  you  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  all  right.    Don't  excite  yourself." 

"Do  you  suppose  I'd  give  that  coxcomb  the  tri- 
umph of  thinking  I  want  to  make  up  to  him!" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not."  Klaus  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  walked  on,  whistling. 


98  The  Great  Hunger 

"Or  that  I  want  to  make  trouble  for  that  fine 
family  of  his  ?  No,  I  may  find  a  way  to  take  it  out 
of  him  some  day,  but  it  won't  be  that  way." 

"Well,  but,  damn  it,  man!  you  can  surely  stand 
hearing  what  people  say  about  him."  And  Klaus- 
went  on  to  tell  his  story.  Ferdinand  Holm,  it 
seemed,  was  the  despair  of  his  family.  He  had 
thrown  up  his  studies  at  the  Military  Academy, 
because  he  thought  soldiers  and  soldiering  ridic- 
ulous. Then  he  had  made  a  short  experiment  with 
theology,  but  found  that  worse  still;  and  finally, 
having  discovered  that  engineering  was  at  any 
rate  an  honest  trade,  he  had  come  to  anchor  at 
the  Technical  College.  "What  do  you  say  to 
that?"  asked  Klaus. 

"I  don't  see  anything  so  remarkable  about  it." 

"Wait  a  bit,  the  cream  of,  the  story's  to  come. 
A  few  weeks  ago  he  thrashed  a  policeman  in  the 
street — said  he'd  insulted  a  child,  or  something. 
There  was1  a  fearful  scandal — arrest,  the  police- 
court,  fine,  and  so  forth.  And  last  winter  what 
must  he  do  but  get  engaged,  formally  and  publicly 
engaged,  to  one  of  his  mother's  maids.  And  when 
his  mother  sent  the  girl  off  behind  his  back,  he 
raised  the  standard  of  revolt  and  left  home  alto- 
gether. And  now  he  does  nothing  but  breathe  fire 
and  slaughter  against  the  upper  classes  and  all 
their  works.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ? ' ' 

"My  good  man,  what  the  deuce  has  all  this  got 
to  do  with  met" 

"Well,  I  think  it's  confoundedly  plucky  of  him, 


The  Great  Hunger  99 

anyhow, "  said  Klaus.  "And  for  my  part  I  shall 
get  to  know  him  if  I  can.  He 's  read  an  awful  lot, 
they  say,  and  has  a  damned  clever  head  on  his 
shoulders.'* 

On  his  very  first  day  at  the  College,  Peer  had 
learned  who  Ferdinand  Holm  was,  and  had  studied 
him  with  interest.  He  was  a  tall,  straight-built 
fellow  with  reddish-blond  hair  and  freckled  face, 
and  wore  a  dark  tortoiseshell  pincenez.  He  did 
not  wear  the  usual  College  cap,  but  a  stiff  grey  felt 
hat,  and  he  looked  about  four  or  five  and  twenty. 

"Wait!'*  thought  Peer  to  himself — "wait,  my 
fine  fellow !  Yes,  you  were  there,  no  doubt,  when 
they  turned  me  out  of  the  churchyard  that  day. 
But  all  that  won't  help  you  here.  You  may  have 
got  the  start  of  me  at  first,  and  learned  this,  that, 
and  the  other,  but — you  just  wait." 

But  one  morning,  out  in  the  quadrangle,  he  no- 
ticed that  Ferdinand  Holm  in  his  turn  was  look- 
ing at  him,  in  fact  was  putting  his  glasses  straight 
to  get  a  better  view  of  him — and  Peer  turned 
round  at  once  and  walked  away. 

Ferdinand,  however,  had  been  put  into  a  higher 
class  almost  at  once,  on  the  strength  of  his  matric- 
ulation. Also  he  was  going  in  for  a  different 
branch  of  the  work — roads  and  railway  construc- 
tion— so  that  it  was  only  in  the  quadrangle  and 
the  passages  that  the  two  ever  met. 

But  one  afternoon,  soon  after  Christmas,  Peer 
was  standing  at  work  in  the  big  designing-room, 


100  The  Great  Hunger 

when  he  heard  steps  behind  him,  and,  turning 
round,  saw  Klaus  Brock  and — Ferdinand  Holm. 

"I  wanted  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  said 
Holm,  and  when  Klaus  had  introduced  them,  he 
held  out  a  large  white  hand  with  a  red  seal-ring 
on  the  first  finger.  "We're  namesakes,  I  under- 
stand, and  Brock  here  tells  me  you  take  your  name 
from  a  country  place  called  Holm. ' ' 

"Yes.  My  father  was  a  plain  country  farmer," 
said  Peer,  and  at  once  felt  annoyed  with  himself 
for  the  ring  of  humility  the  words  seemed  to  have. 

"Well,  the  best  is  good  enough,"  said  the  other 
with  a  smile.  "I  say,  though,  has  the  first-term 
class  gone  as  far  as  this  in  projection  drawing? 
Excuse  my  asking.  You  see,  we  had  a  good  deal 
of  this  sort  of  thing  at  the  Military  Academy,  so 
that  I  know  a  little  about  it." 

Thought  Peer:  "Oh,  you'd  like  to  give  me  a  lit- 
tle good  advice,  would  you,  if  you  dared?"  Aloud 
he  said:  "No,  the  drawing  was  on  the  blackboard 
— the  senior  class  left  it  there — and  I  thought  I'd 
like  to  see  what  I  could  make  out  of  it. ' ' 

The  other  sent  him  a  sidelong  glance.  Then  he 
nodded,  said,  "Good-bye — hope  we  shall  meet 
again,"  and  walked  off,  his  boots  creaking  slightly 
as  he  went.  His  easy  manners,  his  gait,  the  tone 
of  his  voice,  all  seemed  to  irritate  and  humiliate 
Peer.  Never  mind — just  let  him  wait! 

Days  passed,  and  weeks.  Peer  soon  found  an- 
other object  to  work  for  than  getting  the  better  of 
Ferdinand  Holm.  Louise's  dresses  hung  still  un- 


The  Great  Hunger  101 

touched  in  his  room,  her  shoes  stood  under  the 
bed ;  it  still  seemed  to  him  that  some  day  she  must 
open  the  door  and  walk  in.  And  when  he  lay  there 
alone  at  night,  the  riddle  was  always  with  him: 
Where  is  she  now? — why  should  she  have  died? — 
would  he  never  meet  her  again?  He  saw  her  al- 
ways as  she  had  stood  that  day  playing  to  the  sick 
folks  in  the  hospital  ward.  But  now  she  was 
dressed  in  white.  And  it  seemed  quite  natural 
now  that  she  had  wings.  He  heard  her  music  too 
— it  cradled  and  rocked  him.  And  all  this  came  to 
be  a  little  world  apart,  where  he  could  take  refuge 
for  Sunday  peace  and  devotion.  It  had  nothing 
to  do  with  faith  or  religion,  but  it  was  there.  And 
sometimes  in  the  midst  of  his  work  in  the  daytime 
he  would  divine,  as  in  a  quite  separate  conscious- 
ness, the  tones  of  a  fiddle-bow  drawn  across  the 
strings,  like  reddish  waves  coming  to  him  from  far 
off,  filling  him  with  harmony,  till  he  smiled  with- 
out knowing  it. 

Often,  though,  a  sort  of  hunger  would  come  upon 
him  to  let  his  being  unfold  in  a  great  wide  wave 
of  organ  music  in  the  church.  But  to  church  he 
never  went  any  more.  He  would  stride  by  a 
church  door  with  a  kind  of  defiance.  It  might  in- 
deed be  an  Almighty  Will  that  had  taken  Louise 
from  him,  but  if  so  he  did  not  mean  to  give  thanks 
to  such  a  Will  or  bow  down  before  it.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  in  view  a  coming  reckoning — his 
reckoning  with  something  far  out  in  eternity — and 


102  The  Great  Hunger 

he  must  see  to  it  that  when  that  time  came  he  could 
feel  free — free. 

On  Sunday  mornings,  when  the  church  bells  be- 
gan to  ring,  he  would  turn  hastily  to  his  books,  as 
if  to  find  peace  in  them.  Knowledge — knowledge 
— could  it  stay  his  hunger  for  the  music  of  the 
hymn?  When  he  had  first  started  work  at  the 
shops,  he  had  often  and  often  stood  wide-eyed  be- 
fore some  miracle — now  he  was  gathering  the 
power  to  work  miracles  himself.  And  so  he  read 
and  read,  and  drank  in  all  that  he  could  draw  from 
teacher  or  book,  and  thought  and  thought  things 
out  for  himself.  Fixed  lessons  and  set  tasks  were 
all  well  enough,  but  Peer  was  for  ever  looking 
farther;  for  him  there  were  questions  and  more 
questions,  riddles  and  new  riddles — always  new, 
always  farther  and  farther  on,  towards  the  un- 
known. He  had  made  as  yet  but  one  step  for- 
ward in  physics,  mathematics,  chemistry;  he  di- 
vined that  there  were  worlds  still  before  him,  and 
he  must  hasten  on,  on,  on.  Would  the  day  ever 
come  when  he  should  reach  the  end!  What  is 
knowledge?  What  use  do  men  make  of  all  that 
they  have  learned?  Look  at  the  teachers,  who 
knew  so  much — were  they  greater,  richer,  brighter 
beings  than  the  rest?  Could  much  study  bring  a 
man  so  far  that  some  night  he  could  lift  up  a  finger 
and  make  the  stars  themselves  break  into  song? 
Best  drive  ahead,  at  any  rate.  But,  again,  could 
knowledge  lead  on  to  that  ecstasy  of  the  Sunday 
psalm,  that  makes  all  riddles  clear,  that  bears  a 


The  Great  Hunger  103 

man  upwards  in  nameless  happiness,  in  which  his 
soul  expands  till  it  can  enfold  the  infinite  spaces  f 
Well,  at  any  rate  the  best  thing  was  to  drive  ahead, 
drive  ahead  both  early  and  late. 

One  day  that  spring,  when  the  trees  in  the  city 
avenues  were  beginning  to  bud,  Klaus  Brock  and 
Ferdinand  Holm  were  sitting  in  a  cafe  in  North 
Street.  "There  goes  your  friend,"  said  Ferdi- 
nand ;  and  looking  from  the  window  they  saw  Peer 
Holm  passing  the  post-office  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road.  His  clothes  were  shabby,  his  shoes  had 
not  been  cleaned,  he  walked  slowly,  his  fair  head 
with  its  College  cap  bent  forward,  but  seemed 
nevertheless  to  notice  all  that  was  going  on  in  the 
street. 

* '  Wonder  what  he 's  going  pondering  over  now, '  ' 
said  Klaus. 

"Look  there — I  suppose  that's  a  type  of  car- 
riage he's  never  seen  before.  Why,  he  has  got  the 
driver  to  stop " 

"I  wouldn't  mind  betting  he'll  crawl  in  between 
the  wheels  to  find  out  whatever  he's  after," 
laughed  Klaus,  drawing  back  from  the  window  so 
as  not  to  be  seen. 

"He  looks  pale  and  fagged  out,"  said  Ferdi- 
nand, shifting  his  glasses.  "I  suppose  his  peo- 
ple aren't  very  well  off?" 

Klaus  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  the  other. 
"He's  not  overburdened  with  cash,  I  fancy." 

They  drank  off  their  beer,  and  sat  smoking  and 
talking  of  other  things,  until  Ferdinand  remarked 


104  The  Great  Hunger 

casually:  "By  the  way — about  your  friend — are 
his  parents  still  alive  1 ' ' 

Klans  was  by  no  means  anxious  to  go  into  Peer's 
family  affairs,  and  answered  briefly — No,  he 
thought  not. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  boring  you  with  questions,  but 
the  fact  is  the  fellow  interests  me  rather.  There 
is  something  in  his  face,  something — arresting. 
Even  the  way  he  walks — where  is  it  I've  seen  some 
one  walk  like  that  before!  And  he  works  like  a 
steam-engine,  I  hear?" 

"Works!"  repeated  Klaus.  "He'll  ruin  his 
health  before  long,  the  way  he  goes  on  grinding. 
I  believe  he's  got  an  idea  that  by  much  learning 
he  can  learn  at  last  to Ha-ha-ha!" 

"To  do  what!" 

"Why — to  understand  God!" 

Ferdinand  was  staring  out  of  the  window. 
"Funny  enough,"  he  said. 

"I  ran  across  him  last  Sunday,  up  among  the 
hills.  He  was  out  studying  geology,  if  you  please. 
And  if  there's  a  lecture  anywhere  about  anything 
— whether  it's  astronomy  or  a  French  poet — you 
can  safely  swear  he'll  be  sitting  there,  taking 
notes.  You  can't  compete  with  a  fellow  like  that! 
He'll  run  across  a  new  name  somewhere — Aris- 
totle, for  instance.  It's  something  new,  and  off  he 
must  go  to  the  library  to  look  it  up.  And  then  he  '11 
lie  awake  for  nights  after,  stuffing  his  head  with 
translations  from  the  Greek.  How  the  deuce  can 
any  one  keep  up  with  a  man  who  goes  at  things 


The  Great  Hunger  105 

that  way?  There's  one  thing,  though,  that  he 
knows  nothing  about." 

"And  that  is?" 

"Well,  wine  and  women,  we'll  say — and  fun  in 
general.  One  thing  he  isn't,  by  Jove ! — and  that's 
young." 

"Perhaps  he's  not  been  able  to  afford  that  sort 
of  thing,"  said  Ferdinand,  with  something  like  a 
sigh. 

The  two  sat  on  for  some  time,  and  every  now 
and  then,  when  Klaus  was  off  his  guard,  Ferdi- 
nand would  slip  in  another  little  question  about 
Peer.  And  by  the  time  they  had  finished  their  sec- 
ond glass,  Klaus  had  admitted  that  people  said 
Peer's  mother  had  been  a — well — no  better  than 
she  should  be. 

"And  what  about  his  father?"  Ferdinand  let 
fall  casually. 

Klaus  flushed  uncomfortably  at  this.  "Nobody 
— no — nobody  knows  much  about  him,"  he  stam- 
mered. "I'd  tell  you  if  I  knew,  hanged  if  I 
wouldn't.  No  one  has  an  idea  who  it  was.  He — 
he's  very  likely  in  America." 

"You're  always  mighty  mysterious  when  you 
get  on  the  subject  of  his  family,  I've  noticed,"  said 
Ferdinand  with  a  laugh.  But  Klaus  thought  his 
companion  looked  a  little  pale. 

A  few  days  later  Peer  was  sitting  alone  in  his 
room  above  the  stables,  when  he  heard  a  step  on 
the  stairs,  the  door  opened,  and  Ferdinand  Holm 
walked  in. 


106  The  Great  Hunger 

Peer  rose  involuntarily  and  grasped  at  the  back 
of  his  chair  as  if  to  steady  himself.  If  this  young 
coxcomb  had  come — from  the  schoolmaster,  for  in- 
stance— or  to  take  away  his  name — why,  he'd  just 
throw  him  downstairs,  that  was  all. 

"I  thought  I'd  like  to  look  you  up,  and  see  where 
you  lived, ' '  began  the  visitor,  laying  down  his  hat 
and  taking  a  seat.  "I've  taken  you  unawares,  I 
see.  Sorry  to  disturb  you.  But  the  fact  is  there's 
something  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about." 

"Oh,  is  there!"  and  Peer  sat  down  as  far  as 
conveniently  possible  from  the  other. 

"I've  noticed,  even  in  the  few  times  we've  hap- 
pened to  meet,  that  you  don't  like  me.  Well,  you 
know,  that's  a  thing  I'm  not  going  to  put  up 
with." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Peer,  hardly 
knowing  whether  to  laugh  or  not. 

"I  want  to  be  friends  with  you,  that's  all.  You 
probably  know  a  good  deal  more  about  me  than  I 
do  about  you,  but  that  need  not  matter.  Hullo — 
do  you  always  drum  with  your  fingers  on  the  table 
like  that!  Ha-ha-ha!  Why,  that  was  a  habit  of 
my  father's,  too." 

Peer  stared  at  the  other  in  silence.  But  his  fin- 
gers stopped  drumming. 

"I  rather  envy  you,  you  know,  living  as  you  do. 
When  you  come  to  be  a  millionaire,  you'll  have  an 
effective  background  for  your  millions.  And  then, 
you  must  know  a  great  deal  more  about  life  than 
we  do ;  and  the  knowledge  that  comes  out  of  books 


The  Great  Hunger  107 

must  have  quite  another  spiritual  value  for  you 
than  for  the  rest  of  us,  whoVe  been  stuffed  me- 
chanically with  ' lessons'  and  'education'  and  so 
forth  since  we  were  kids.  And  now  you're  going 
in  for  engineering?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peer.  His  face  added  pretty 
clearly,  "And  what  concern  is  it  of  yours?" 

"Well,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  the  modern  tech- 
:nician  is  a  priest  in  his  way — or  no,  perhaps  I 
should  rather  call  him  a  descendant  of  old  Prome- 
theus. Quite  a  respectable  ancestry,  too,  don't  you 
think?  But  has  it  ever  struck  you  that  with  every 
victory  over  nature  won  by  the  human  spirit,  a 
fragment  of  their  omnipotence  is  wrested  from  the 
hands  of  the  gods?  I  always  feel  as  if  we  were 
using  fire  and  steel,  mechanical  energy  and  hu- 
man thought,  as  weapons  of  revolt  against  the 
^Heavenly  tyranny.  The  day  will  come  when  we 
: shall  no  longer  need  to  pray.  The  hour  will  strike 
when  the  Heavenly  potentates  will  be  forced  to 
•capitulate,  and  in  their  turn  bend  the  knee  to  us. 
What  do  you  think  yourself?  Jehovah  doesn't 
"like  engineers — that's  my  opinion." 

"Sounds  very  well,"  said  Peer  briefly.  But  he 
"had  to  admit  to  himself  that  the  other  had  put  into 
words  something  that  had  been  struggling  for  ex- 
pression in  his  own  mind. 

' '  Of  course  for  the  present  we  two  must  be  con- 
'tent  with  smaller  things,"  Ferdinand  went  on. 
"And  I  don't  mind  admitting  that  laying  out  a  bit 
of  road,  or  a  bit  of  railway,  or  bridging  a  ditch 


108  The  Great  Hunger 

or  so,  isn't  work  that  appeals  to  me  tremendously. 
But  if  a  man  can  get  out  into  the  wide  world, 
there  are  things  enough  to  be  done  that  give  him 
plenty  of  chance  to  develop  what's  in  him — if 
there  happens  to  be  anything.  I  used  to  envy  the 
great  soldiers,  who  went  about  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  conquering  wild  tribes  and  founding  em- 
pires, organising  and  civilising  where  they  went. 
But  in  our  day  an  engineer  can  find  big  jobs  too, 
once  he  gets  out  in  the  world — draining  thousands 
of  square  miles  of  swamp,  or  regulating  the  Nile, 
or  linking  two  oceans  together.  That's  the  sort 
of  thing  I'm  going  to  take  a  hand  in  some  day. 
As  soon  as  I've  finished  here,  I'm  off.  And  we'll 
leave  it  to  the  engineers  to  come,  say  in  a  couple 
of  hundred  years  or  so,  to  start  in  arranging  tour- 
ist routes  between  the  stars.  Do  you  mind  my 
smoking?" 

"No,  please  do,"  said  Peer.  "But  I'm  sorry  I 
haven't " 

"I  have-^thanks  all  the  same."  Ferdinand 
took  out  his  cigar-case,  and  when  Peer  had  de- 
clined the  offered  cigar,  lit  one  himself. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "won't  you  come  out  and 
have  dinner  with  me  somewhere?" 

Peer  started  at  his  visitor.  What  did  all  this 
mean? 

"I'm  a  regular  Spartan,  as  a  rule,  but  they've 
just  finished  dividing  up  my  father's  estate,  so 
I'm  in  funds  for  the  moment,  and  why  shouldn't 
we  have  a  little  dinner  to  celebrate  ?  If  you  want 


The  Great  Hunger  109 

to  change,  I  can  wait  outside — but  come  just  as 
you  are,  of  course,  if  you  prefer." 

Peer  was  more  and  more  perplexed.  "Was  there 
something  behind  all  this  T  Or  was  the  fellow  sim- 
ply an  astonishingly  good  sort?  Giving  it  up  at 
last,  he  changed  his  collar  and  put  on  his  best  suit 
and  went. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  himself  in 
a  first-class  restaurant,  with  small  tables  covered 
with  snow-white  tablecloths,  flowers  in  vases,  nap- 
kins folded  sugar-loaf  shape,  cut-glass  bowls,  and 
coloured  wine-glasses.  Ferdinand  seemed  thor- 
oughly at  home,  and  treated  his  companion  with  a 
friendly  politeness.  And  during  the  meal  he  man- 
aged to  make  the  talk  turn  most  of  the  time  on 
Peer's  childhood  and  early  days. 

When  they  had  come  to  the  coffee  and  cigars, 
Ferdinand  leaned  across  the  table  towards  him, 
and  said:  "Look  here,  don't  you  think  we  two 
ought  to  say  thee  and  thou1  to  each  other?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Peer,  really  touched  now. 

"We're  both  Holms,  you  know." 

"Yes.    So  we  are." 

"And,  after  all,  who  knows  that  there  mayn't 
be  some  sort  of  connection?  Come,  now,  don't 
look  like  that  I  I  only  want  you  to  look  on  me  as 
your  good  friend,  and  to  come  to  me  if  ever  there's 
anything  I  can  do.  We  needn't  live  in  each  other's 
pockets,  of  course,  when  other  people  are  by — but 

1 "  Tutoyer, "  the  mode  of  address  of  intimate  friendship  or  re- 
lationship. 


110  The  Great  Hunger 

we  must  take  in  Klaus  Brock  along  with  us,  don't 
you  think?" 

Peer  felt  a  strong  impulse  to  run  away.  Did 
the  other  know  everything!  If  so,  why  didn't  he 
speak  straight  out? 

As  the  two  walked  home  in  the  clear  light  of 
the  spring  evening,  Ferdinand  took  his  compan- 
ion's arm,  and  said:  "I  don't  know  if  you've 
heard  that  I'm  not  on  good  terms  with  my  people 
at  home.  But  the  very  first  time  I  saw  you,  I  had 
a  sort  of  feeling  that  we  two  belonged  together. 
Somehow  you  seemed  to  remind  me  so  of — well, 
to  tell  the  truth,  of  my  father.  And  he,  let  me  tell 
you,  was  a  gallant  gentleman " 

Peer  did  not  answer,  and  the  matter  went  no 
farther  then. 

But  the  next  few  days  were  an  exciting  time 
for  Peer.  He  could  not  quite  make  out  how  much 
Ferdinand  knew,  and  nothing  on  earth  would  have 
induced  him  to  say  anything  more  himself.  And 
the  other  asked  no  questions,  but  was  just  a  first- 
rate  comrade,  behaving  as  if  they  had  been  friends 
for  years.  He  did  not  even  ask  Peer  any  more 
about  his  childhood,  and  never  again  referred  to 
his  own  family.  Peer  was  always  reminding  him- 
self to  be  on  his  guard,  but  could  not  help  feel- 
ing glad  all  the  same  whenever  they  were  to  meet. 

He  was  invited  one  evening,  with  Klaus,  to  a 
wine-party  at  Ferdinand's  lodging,  and  found 
himself  in  a  handsomely  furnished  room,  with  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  and  photographs  of  his  host's 


The  Great  Hunger  111 

parents.  There  was  one  of  his  father  as  a  young 
man,  in  uniform ;  another  of  his  grandfather,  who 
had  been  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court.  "It's 
very  good  of  you  to  be  so  interested  in  my  peo- 
ple," said  Ferdinand  with  a  smile.  Klaus  Brock 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  wondering  to  him- 
self how  things  really  stood  between  the  two. 

The  summer  vacation  came  round,  and  the  stu- 
dents prepared  to  break  up  and  go  their  various 
ways.  Klaus  was  to  go  home.  And  one  day  Fer- 
dinand came  to  Peer  and  said:  "Look  here,  old 
man.  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great  favour.  I'd 
arranged  to  go  to  the  seaside  this  summer,  but 
I've  a  chance  of  going  up  to  the  hills,  too.  Well, 
I  can't  be  in  two  places  at  once — couldn't  you  take 
on  one  of  them  for  me?  Of  course  I'd  pay  all  ex- 
penses." "No,  thank  you!"  said  Peer,  with  a 
laugh.  But  when  Klaus  Brock  came  just  before 
leaving  and  said:  "See  here,  Peer.  Don't  you 
think  you  and  I  might  club  together  and  put  a 
marble  slab  over — Louise's  grave?",  Peer  was 
touched,  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "What 
a  good  old  fellow  you  are,  Klaus,"  he  said. 

Later  in  the  summer  Peer  set  out  alone  on  a 
tramp  through  the  country,  and  whenever  he  saw 
a  chance,  he  would  go  up  to  one  of  the  farms  and 
say:  "Would  you  like  to  have  a  good  map  of  the 
farm?  It'll  cost  ten  crowns  and  my  lodging  while 
I'm  at  it."  It  made  a  very  pleasant  holiday  for 
him,  and  he  came  home  with  a  little  money  in  his 
pocket  to  boot. 


112  The  Great  Hunger 

His  second  year  at  the  school  was  much  like  the 
first.  He  plodded  along  at  his  work.  And  now 
and  then  his  two  friends  would  come  and  drag  him 
off  for  an  evening's  jollification.  But  after  he  had 
been  racketing  about  with  the  others,  singing  and 
shouting  through  the  sleeping  town — and  at  last 
was  alone  and  in  his  bed  in  the  darkness,  another 
and  a  very  different  life  began  for  him,  face  to 
face  with  his  innermost  self.  Where  are  you  head- 
ing for,  Peer?  What  are  you  aiming  at  in  all  your 
labours?  And  he  would  try  to  answer  devoutly, 
as  at  evening  prayers :  Where  ?  Why,  of  course, 
I  am  going  to  be  a  great  engineer.  And  then?  I 
will  be  one  of  the  sons  of  Prometheus,  that  head 
the  revolt  against  the  tyranny  of  Heaven.  And 
then?  I  will  help  to  raise  the  great  ladder  on 
which  men  can  climb  aloft — higher  and  higher,  up 
towards  the  light,  and  the  spirit,  and  mastery  over 
nature.  And  then?  Live  happily,  marry1  and 
have  children,  and  a  rich  and  beautiful  home. 
And  then?  Oh,  well,  one  fine  day,  of  course,  one 
must  grow  old  and  die.  And  then?  And  then? 
Aye,  what  then? 

At  these  times  he  found  a  shadowy  comfort  in 
taking  refuge  in  the  world  where  Louise  stood — 
playing,  as  he  always  saw  her — and  cradling  him- 
self on  the  smooth  red  billows  of  her  music.  But 
why  was  it  that  here  most  of  all  he  felt  that  hun- 
ger for — for  something  more? 

Ferdinand  finished  his  College  course,  and  went 
out,  as  he  had  said,  into  the  great  world,  and 


The  Great  Hunger  113 

Klaus  went  with  him.  And  so  throughout  his 
third  year  Peer  was  mostly  to  be  seen  alone,  al- 
ways with  books  under  his  arm,  and  head  bent 
forward. 

Just  as  he  was  getting  ready  to  go  up  for  his 
final  examination,  a  letter  from  Ferdinand  ar- 
rived, written  from  Egypt.  "Come  over  here, 
young  fellow,"  he  wrote.  "We  have  got  good  bil- 
lets at  last  with  a  big  British  firm — Brown  Bros., 
of  London — a  firm  that's  building  railways  in 
Canada,  bridges  in  India,  harbour  works  in  Ar- 
gentina, and  canals  and  barrages  here  in  Egypt. 
We  can  get  you  a  nice  little  post  as  draughtsman 
to  begin  with,  and  I  enclose  funds  for  the  passage 
out.  So  come  along." 

But  Peer  did  not  go  at  once.  He  stayed  on  an- 
other year  at  the  College,  as  assistant  to  the  lec- 
turer on  mechanics,  while  himself  going  through 
the  road  and  railway  construction  course,  as  his 
half-brother  had  done.  Some  secret  instinct  urged 
him  not  to  be  left  behind  even  in  this. 

As  the  year  went  on  the  letters  from  his  two 
comrades  became  more  and  more  pressing  and 
tempting.  "Out  here,"  wrote  Klaus,  "the  engi- 
neer is  a  missionary,  proclaimer,  not  Jehovah,  but 
the  power  and  culture  of  Europe.  You're  bound 
to  take  a  hand  in  that,  my  boy.  There's  work 
worthy  of  a  great  general  waiting  for  you  here." 

At  last,  one  autumn  day,  when  the  woods  stood 
yellow  all  around  the  town,  Peer  drove  away  from 
his  home  with  a  big  new  travelling-trunk  strapped 


114  The  Great  Hunger 

to  the  driver's  seat.  He  had  been  up  to  the 
churchyard  before  starting,  with  a  little  bunch  of 
flowers  for  Louise's  grave.  Who  could  say  if  he 
would  ever  see  it  again! 

At  the  station  he  stood  for  a  moment  looking 
back  over  the  old  city  with  its  cathedral,  and  the 
ancient  fortress,  where  the  sentry  was  pacing 
back  and  forth  against  the  skyline.  Was  this  the 
end  of  his  youth?  Louise — the  room  above  the 
stables — the  hospital,  the  lazarette,  the  College. 
.  .  .  And  there  lay  the  fjord,  and  far  out  some- 
where on  the  coast  there  stood  no  doubt  a  little 
grey  fisher-hut,  where  a  pock-marked  goodwife 
and  her  bow-legged  goodman  had  perhaps  even 
now  received  the  parcel  of  coffee  and  tobacco  sent 
them  as  a  parting  gift. 

And  so  Peer  journeyed  to  the  capital,  and  from 
there  out  into  the  wide  world. 


BOOK  II 


Chapter  I 

SOME  years  had  passed — a  good  many  years — and 
once  more  summer  had  come,  and  June.  A  pas^ 
senger  steamer,  bound  from  Antwerp  to  Chris- 
tiania,  was  ploughing  her  way  one  evening  over  a 
sea  so  motionlessly  calm  that  it  seemed  a  single 
vast  mirror  filled  with  a  sky  of  grey  and  pink- 
tinged  clouds.  There  were  plenty  of  passengers 
on  board,  and  no  one  felt  inclined  for  bed ;  it  was  so 
warm,  so  beautiful  on  deck.  Some  artists,  on  their 
way  home  from  Paris  or  Munich,  cast  about  for 
amusements  to  pass  the  time ;  some  ordered  wine, 
others  had  unearthed  a  concertina,  and  very  soon, 
no  one  knew  how,  a  dance  was  in  full  swing.  "No, 
my  dear,"  said  one  or  two  cautious  mothers  to 
their  girls,  "certainly  not."  But  before  long  the 
mothers  were  dancing  themselves.  Then  there 
was  a  doctor  in  spectacles,  who  stood  up  on  a  bar- 
rel and  made  a  speech;  and  presently  two  of  the 
artists  caught  hold  of  the  grey-bearded  captain 
and  chaired  him  round  the  deck.  The  night  was 
so  clear,  the  skies  so  ruddily  beautiful,  the  air  so 
soft,  and  out  here  on  the  open  sea  all  hearts  were 
light  and  happy. 

"Who's  that  wooden-faced  beggar  over  there 
that's  too  high  and  mighty  for  a  little  fun?"  asked 

1X7 


118  The  Great  Hunger 

Storaker  the  painter,  of  his  friend  the  sculptor 
Praas. 

"That  fellow?  Oh,  he's  the  one  that  was  so 
infernally  instructive  at  dinner,  when  we  were 
talking  about  Egyptian  vases." 

"So  it  is,  by  Jove!  Schoolmaster  abroad,  I 
should  think.  "When  we  got  on  to  Athens  and 
Greek  sculpture  he  condescended  to  set  us  right 
about  that,  too." 

"I  heard  him  this  morning  holding  forth  to  the 
doctor  on  Assyriology.  No  wonder  he  doesn't 
dance ! ' ' 

The  passenger  they  were  speaking  of  was  a  man 
of  middle  height,  between  thirty  and  forty  appar- 
ently, who  lay  stretched  in  a  deck-chair  a  little 
way  off.  He  was  dressed  in  grey  throughout, 
from  his  travelling-cap  to  the  spats  above  his 
brown  shoes.  His  face  was  sallow,  and  the  short 
brown  beard  was  flecked  with  grey.  But  his  eyes 
had  gay  little  gleams  in  them  as  they  followed  the 
dancers.  It  was  Peer  Holm. 

As  he  sat  there  watching,  it  annoyed  him  to  feel 
that  he  could  not  let  himself  go  like  the  others. 
But  it  was  so  long  since  he  had  mixed  with  his 
own  countrymen,  that  he  felt  insecure  of  his  foot- 
ing and  almost  like  a  foreigner  among  them.  Be- 
sides, in  a  few  hours  now  they  should  sight  the 
skerries  on  the  Norwegian  coast ;  and  the  thought 
awoke  in  him  a  strange  excitement — it  was  a  mo- 
ment he  had  dreamed  of  many  and  many  a  time 
out  there  in  the  wide  world. 


The  Great  Hunger  119 

After  a  while  stillness  fell  on  the  decks  around 
him,  and  he  too  went  below,  but  lay  down  in  his 
cabin  without  undressing.  He  thought  of  the  time 
when  he  had  passed  that  way  on  the  outward 
voyage,  poor  and  unknown,  and  had  watched  the 
last  island  of  his  native  land  sink  below  the  sea- 
rim.  Much  had  happened  since  then — and  now 
that  he  had  at  last  come  home,  what  life  awaited 
him  there? 

A  little  after  two  in  the  morning  he  came  on 
deck  again,  but  stood  still  in  astonishment  at  find- 
ing that  the  vessel  was  now  boring  her  way 
through  a  thick  woolly  fog.  The  devil !  thought  he, 
beginning  to  tramp  up  and  down  the  deck  impa- 
tiently. It  seemed  that  his  great  moment  was  to 
be  lost — spoiled  for  him  1  But  suddenly  he  stopped 
by  the  railing,  and  stood  gazing  out  into  the  east. 

What  was  that?  Far  out  in  the  depths  of  the 
woolly  fog  a  glowing  spot  appeared;  the  grey 
mass  around  grew  alive,  began  to  move,  to  red- 
den, to  thin  out  as  if  it  were  streaming  up  in 
flames.  Ah!  now  he  knew!  It  was  the  globe  of 
the  sun,  rising  out  of  the  sea.  On  board,  every 
point  where  the  night's  moisture  had  lodged  be- 
gan to  shine  in  gold.  Each  moment  it  grew  clearer 
and  lighter,  and  the  eye  reached  farther.  And  be- 
fore he  could  take  in  what  was  happening,  the 
grey  darkness  had  rolled  itself  up  into  mounds, 
into  mountains,  that  grew  buoyant  and  floated 
aloft  and  melted  away.  And  there,  all  revealed, 


120  The  Great  Hunger 

lay  the  fresh  bright  morning,  with  a  clear  sun- 
filled  sky  over  the  blue  sea. 

It  was  time  now  to  get  out  his  field-glasses. 
For  a  long  time  he  stood  motionless,  gazing  in- 
tently through  them. 

There!  Was  it  his  fancy?  No,  there  far  ahead 
he  can  see  clearly  now  a  darker  strip  between  sky 
and  sea.  It's  the  first  skerry.  It  is  Norway,  at 
last! 

Peer  felt  a  sudden  catch  in  his  breath ;  he  could 
hardly  stand  still,  but  he  stopped  again  and  again 
in  his  walk  to  look  once  more  at  the  far-off  strip 
of  grey.  And  now  there  were  seabirds  too,  with 
long  necks  and  swiftly-beating  wings.  Welcome 
home! 

And  now  the  steamer  is  ploughing  in  among  the 
skerries,  and  a  world  of  rocks  and  islets  unfolds 
on  every  side.  There  is  the  first  red  fisher-hut. 
And  then  the  entrance  to  Christiansand,  between 
wooded  hills  and  islands,  where  white  cottages 
shine  out,  each  with  its  patch  of  green  grassland 
and  its  flagstaff  before  it. 

Peer  watched  it  all,  drinking  it  in  like  nourish- 
ment. How  good  it  all  tasted — he  felt  it  would 
be  long  before  he  had  drunk  his  fill. 

Then  came  the  voyage  up  along  the  coast,  all 
through  a  day  of  brilliant  sunshine  and  a  luminous 
night.  He  saw  the  blue  sounds  with  swarms  of 
white  gulls  hovering  above  them,  the  little  coast- 
towns  with  their  long  white-painted  wooden 
houses,  and  flowers  in  the  windows.  He  had  never 


The  Great  Hunger  121 

passed  this  way  before,  and  yet  something  in  him 
seemed  to  nod  and  say:  "I  know  myself  again 
here."  All  the  way  up  the  Chris tiania  Fjord 
there  was  the  scent  of  leaves  and  meadows;  big 
farms  stood  by  the  shore  shining  in  the  sun.  This 
was  what  a  great  farm  looked  like.  He  nodded 
again.  So  warm  and  fruitful  it  all  seemed,  and 
dear  to  him  as  home — though  he  knew  that,  after 
all,  he  would  be  little  better  than  a  tourist  in  his 
own  country.  There  was  no  one  waiting  for  him, 
no  one  to  take  him  in.  Still,  some  day  things 
might  be  very  different. 

As  the  ship  drew  alongside  the  quay  at  Chris- 
tiania,  the  other  passengers  lined  the  rail,  friends 
and  relations  came  aboard,  there  were  tears  and 
laughter  and  kisses  and  embraces.  Peer  lifted  his 
hat  as  he  passed  down  the  gangway,  but  no  one 
had  time  to  notice  him  just  now.  And  when  he 
had  found  a  hotel  porter  to  look  after  his  luggage, 
he  walked  up  alone  through  the  town,  as  if  he  were 
a  stranger. 

The  light  nights  made  it  difficult  to  sleep — he 
had  actually  forgotten  that  it  was  light  all  night 
long.  And  this  was  a  capital  city — yet  so  touch- 
ingly  small,  it  seemed  but  a  few  steps  wherever 
he  went.  These  were  his  countrymen,  but  he  knew 
no  one  among  them ;  there  was  no  one  to  greet  him. 
Still,  he  thought  again,  some  day  all  this  might 
be  very  different. 

At  last,  one  day  as  he  stood  looking  at  the  win- 
dow of  a  bookseller's  shop,  he  heard  a  voice  be- 


122  The  Great  Hunger 

hind  him:  "Why,  bless  me!  surely  it's  Peer 
Holm!"  It  was  one  of  his  fellow-students  at  the 
Technical  College,  Beidar  Langberg,  pale  and  thin 
now  as  ever.  He  had  been  a  shining  light  at  the 
College,  but  now — now  he  looked  shabby,  worn 
and  aged. 

"I  hardly  knew  you  again,"  said  Peer,  grasp- 
ing the  other's  hand. 

"And  you're  a  millionaire,  so  they  say — and 
famous,  out  in  the  big  world?" 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  old  fellow.  But  what 
about  you?" 

"I?  Oh,  don't  talk  about  me."  And  as  they 
walked  down  the  street  together,  Langberg  poured 
out  his  tale,  of  how  times  were  desperately  bad, 
and  conditions  at  home  here  simply  strangled  a 
man.  He  had  started  ten  or  twelve  years  ago  as 
a  draughtsman  in  the  offices  of  the  State  Bail- 
ways,  and  was  still  there,  with  a  growing  family 
— and  "such  pay — such  pay,  my  dear  fellow!" 
He  threw  up  his  eyes  and  clasped  his  hands  de- 
spairingly. 

"Look  here,"  said  Peer,  interrupting  him. 
"Where  is  the  best  place  in  Christiania  to  go  and 
have  a  good  time  in  the  evening?" 

"Well,  St.  Hans  Hill,  for  instance.  There's 
music  there." 

"Bight — will  you  come  and  dine  with  me  there, 
to-night — shall  we  say  eight  o'clock?" 

* '  Thanks.    I  should  think  I  would ! ' ' 

Peer  arrived  in  good  time,  and  engaged  a  table 


The  Great  Hunger  128 

on  a  verandah.  Langberg  made  his  appearance 
shortly  after,  dressed  in  his  well-saved  Sunday 
best — faded  frock-coat,  light  trousers  bagged  at 
the  knees,  and  a  straw  hat  yellow  with  age. 

"It's  a  pleasure  to  have  someone  to  talk  to 
again,"  said  Peer.  "For  the  last  year  or  so  I've 
been  knocking  about  pretty  much  by  myself." 

"Is  it  as  long  as  that  since  you  left  Egypt?" 

"Yes;  longer.  I've  been  in  Abyssinia  since 
then." 

1 1  Oh,  of  course,  I  remember  now.  It  was  in  the 
papers.  Building  a  railway  for  King  Menelik, 
weren't  you!" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  the  last  eighteen  months  or  so 
J've  been  idling — running  about  to  theatres  and 
museums  and  so  forth.  I  began  at  Athens  and 
finished  up  with  London.  I  remember  one  day 
sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  Parthenon  declaiming 
the  Antigone — and  a  moment  with  some  meaning 
in  it  seemed  to  have  come  at  last." 

"But,  dash  it,  man,  you're  surely  not  compar- 
ing such  trifles  with  a  thing  like  the  great  Nile 
Barrage?  You  were  on  that  for  some  years, 
weren't  you?  Do  let's  hear  something  about  that. 
Up  by  the  first  cataract,  wasn't  it?  And  hadn't 
you  enormous  quarries  there  on  the  spot?  You 
see,  even  sitting  at  home  here,  I  haven't  quite  lost 
touch.  But  you — good  Lord!  what  things  you 
must  have  seen !  Fancy  living  at — what  was  the 
name  of  the  town  again?" 

"Assuan,"  answered  Peer  indifferently,  look- 


124  The  Great  Hunger 

ing  out  over  the  gardens,  where  more  and  more 
visitors  kept  arriving. 

* '  They  say  the  barrage  is  as  great  a  miracle  as 
the  Pyramids.  How  many  sluice-gates  are  there 
again — a  hundred  and  .  .  .  ?" 

"Two  hundred  and  sixteen,"  said  Peer. 
1 '  Look ! "  he  broke  off.  ' '  Do  you  know  those  girls 
over  there  ? ' '  He  nodded  towards  a  party  of  girls 
in  light  dresses  who  were  sitting  down  at  a  table 
close  by. 

Langberg  shook  his  head.  He  was  greedy  for 
news  from  the  great  world  without,  which  he  had 
never  had  the  luck  to  see. 

"I've  often  wondered,"  he  went  on,  "how  you 
managed  to  come  to  the  front  so  in  that  sort  of 
work — railways  and  barrages,  and  so  forth — when 
your  original  line  was  mechanical  engineering. 
Of  course  you  did  do  an  extra  year  on  the  roads 
and  railway  side;  but  ..." 

Oh,  this  shining  light  of  the  schools  I 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  glass  of  champagne?" 
said  Peer.  ' ' How  do  you  like  it!  Sweet  or  dry  ? ' ' 

"Why,  is  there  any  difference?  I  really  didn't 
know.  But  when  one's  a  millionaire,  of 
course  .  .  ." 

"I'm  not  a  millionaire,"  said  Peer  with  a  smile, 
and  beckoned  to  a  waiter. 

"Ohl  I  heard  you  were.  Didn't  you  invent  a 
new  motor-pump  that  drove  all  the  other  types 
out  of  the  field?  And  besides — that  Abyssinian 
railway.  Oh  well,  well!"  he  sighed,  "it's  a  good 


The  Great  Hunger  125 

thing  somebody's  lucky.  The  rest  of  us  shouldn't 
complain.  But  how  about  the  other  two — Klaus 
Brock  and  Ferdinand  Holm?  What  are  they  do- 
ing now!" 

"Klaus  is  looking  after  the  Khedive's  estates 
fit  Edfina.  Agriculture  by  steam  power ;  his  own 
railway  lines  to  bring  in  the  produce,  and  so  on. 
Yes,  Klaus  has  ended  up  in  a  nice  little  place  of 
his  own.  His  district's  bigger  than  the  kingdom 
of  Denmark." 

"Good  heavens!"  Langberg  nearly  fell  off  his 
chair.  *  '  And  Ferdinand  Holm ;  what  about  him  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  he's  got  bigger  things  on  hand.  Went 
nosing  about  the  Libyan  desert,  and  found  that 
considerable  tracts  of  it  have  water-veins  only  a 
few  yards  beneath  the  surface.  If  so,  of  course, 
it's  only  a  question  of  proper  plant  to  turn  an 
enormous  area  into  a  paradise  for  corn-growing." 

"Good  gracious!  What  a  discovery!"  gasped 
the  other,  almost  breathless  now. 

Peer  looked  out  over  the  fjord,  and  went  on: 
"Last  year  he  managed  at  last  to  get  the  Khedive 
interested,  and  they've  started  a  joint-stock  com- 
pany now,  with  a  capital  of  some  millions.  Ferdi- 
nand is  chief  engineer." 

"And  what's  his  salary?  As  much  as  fifty 
thousand  crowns?" 

"His  pay  is  two  hundred  thousand  francs  a 
year,"  said  Peer,  not  without  some  fear  that  his 
companion  might  faint.  "Yes,  he's  an  able  fel- 
low, is  Ferdinand." 


126  The  Great  Hunger 

It  took  Langberg  some  time  to  get  his  breath 
again.  At  last  he  asked,  with  a  sidelong  glance : 

"And  you  and  Klaus  Brock — I  suppose  you've 
put  your  millions  in  his  company?" 

Peer  smiled  as  he  sat  looking  out  over  the  gar- 
den. Lifting  his  glass,  "Your  good  health,"  he 
said,  for  all  answer. 

"Have  you  been  in  America,  too?"  went  on 
the  other.  "No,  I  suppose  not!" 

"America?  Yes,  a  few  years  back,  when  I  was 
with  Brown  Bros.,  they  sent  me  over  one  time  to 
buy  plant.  Nothing  so  surprising  in  that,  is 
there!" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  I  was  only  thinking — 
you  went  about  there,  I  daresay,  and  saw  all  the 
wonderful  things — the  miracles  of  science  they're 
always  producing." 

"My  dear  fellow,  if  you  only  knew  how  deadly 
sick  I  am  of  miracles  of  science!  "What  I'm  long- 
ing for  is  a  country  watermill  that  takes  twenty- 
four  hours  to  grind  a  sack  of  corn." 

"What!  What  do  you  say?"  Langberg 
bounced  in  his  chair.  "Ha-ha-ha!  You're  the 
same  old  man,  I  can  see." 

"I'm  perfectly  serious,"  said  Peer,  lifting  his 
glass  towards  the  other.  "Come.  Here's  to  our 
old  days  together!" 

"Aye — thanks,  a  thousand  thanks — to  our  old 
days  together  I — Ah,  delicious !  Well,  then,  I  sup- 
pose yonVe  fallen  in  love  away  down  there  in  the 


The  Great  Himger  127 

land  of  the  barbarians?  Haven't  you?  Ha-ha- 
ha!" 

"Do  you  call  Egypt  a  land  of  barbarians?" 

"Well,  don't  the  fellahs  still  yoke  their  wives 
to  their  ploughs?" 

"A  fellah  will  sit  all  night  long  outside  his  hut 
and  gaze  up  at  the  stars  and  give  himself  time  to 
dream.  And  a  merchant  prince  in  Vienna  will 
dictate  business  letters  in  his  automobile  as  he's 
driving  to  the  theatre,  and  write  telegrams  as  he 
sits  in  the  stalls.  One  fine  day  he'll  be  sitting  in 
his  private  box  with  a  telephone  at  one  ear  and 
listening  to  the  opera  with  the  other.  That's  what 
the  miracles  of  science  are  doing  for  us.  Awe- 
inspiring,  isn't  it?" 

"And  you  talk  like  that — a  man  that's  helped 
to  harness  the  Nile,  and  has  built  railways  through 
the  desert?" 

Peer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  offered  the 
other  a  cigar  from  his  case.  A  waiter  appeared 
with  coffee. 

"To  help  mankind  to  make  quicker  progress — 
is  that  nothing?" 

"Lord!  What  I'd  like  to  know  is,  where  man- 
kind are  making  for,  that  they're  in  such  a  hurry." 

"That  the  Nile  Barrage  has  doubled  the  pro- 
duction of  corn  in  Egypt — created  the  possibilities 
of  life  for  millions  of  human  beings — is  that  noth- 
ing?" 

"My  good  fellow,  do  you  really  think  there 
aren't  enough  fools  on  this  earth  already?  Have 


128  The  Great  Hunger 

we  too  little  wailing  and  misery  and  discontent 
and  class-hatred  as  it  is?  Why  must  we  go  abont 
to  double  it?" 

"But  hang  it  all,  man — what  about  European 
culture?  Surely  you  felt  yourself  a  sort  of  mis- 
sionary of  civilisation,  where  you  have  been. ' ' 

"The  spread  of  European  civilisation  in  the 
East  simply  means  that  half  a  dozen  big  financiers 
in  London  or  Paris  take  a  fancy  to  a  certain  strip 
of  Africa  or  Asia.  They  press  a  button,  and  out 
come  all  the  ministers  and  generals  and  mission- 
aries and  engineers  with  a  bow :  At  your  service, 
gentlemen  1 

"Culture!  One  wheel  begets  ten  new  ones. 
Brr-rrr!  And  the  ten  again  another  hundred. 
Brr-rr-rrr — more  speed,  more  competition — and 
all  for  what?  For  culture?  No,  my  friend,  for 
money.  Missionary !  I  tell  you,  as  long  as  West- 
ern Europe  with  all  its  wonders  of  modern  science 
and  its  Christianity  and  its  political  reforms 
hasn't  turned  out  a  better  type  of  humanity  than 
the  mean  ruck  of  men  we  have  now — we'd  do  best 
to  stay  at  home  and  hold  our  counfounded  jaw. 
Here's  ourselves!"  and  Peer  emptied  his  glass. 

This  was  a  sad  hearing  for  poor  Langberg. 
For  he  had  been  used  to  comfort  himself  in  his 
daily  round  with  the  thought  that  even  he,  in  his 
modest  sphere,  was  doing  his  share  in  the  great 
work  of  civilising  the  world. 

At  last  he  leaned  back,  watching  the  smoke 
from  his  cigar,  and  smiling  a  little. 


The  Great  Hunger  129 

"I  remember  a  young  fellow  at  the  College," 
he  said,  "who  used  to  talk  a  good  deal  about  Pro- 
metheus, and  the  grand  work  of  liberating  human- 
ity, by  stealing  ne  wand  ever  new  fire  from  Olym- 
pus." 

"That  was  me — yes,"  said  Peer  with  a  laugh. 
"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  only  quoting  Ferdi- 
nand Holm." 

"You  don't  believe  in  all  that  now?" 

"It  strikes  me  that  fire  and  steel  are  rapidly 
turning  men  into  beasts.  Machinery  is  killing 
more  and  more  of  what  we  call  the  godlike  in  us." 

"But,  good  heavens,  man!  Surely  a  man  can 
be  a  Christian  even  if  ..." 

"Christian  as  much  as  you  like.  But  don't  you 
think  it  might  soon  be  time  we  found  something 
better  to  worship  than  an  ascetic  on  a  cross  !  Are 
we  to  keep  on  for  ever  singing  Hallelujah  be- 
cause we've  saved  our  own  skins  and  yet  can  hag- 
gle ourselves  into  heaven?  Is  that  religion?" 

"No,  no,  perhaps  not.    But  I  don't  know  ..." 

"Neither  do  I.  But  it's  all  the  same;  for  any- 
how no  such  thing  as  religious  feeling  exists  any 
longer.  Machinery  is  killing  our  longings  for 
eternity,  too.  Ask  the  good  people  in  the  great 
cities.  They  spend  Christmas  Eve  playing  tunes 
from  The  Dollar  Princess  on  the  gramophone." 

Langberg  sat  for  a  while  watching  the  other 
attentively.  Peer  sat  smoking  slowly;  his  face 
was  flushed  with  the  wine,  but  from  time  to  time 


130  The  Great  Hunger 

his  eyes  half-closed,  and  his  thoughts  seemed  to 
be  wandering  in  other  fields  than  these. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  doing  now  you  are 
home  again?"  asked  his  companion  at  last. 

Peer  opened  his  eyes.  "Doing?  Oh,  I  don't 
know.  Look  about  me  first  of  all.  Then  perhaps 
I  may  find  a  cottar's  croft  somewhere  and  settle 
down  and  marry  a  dairymaid.  Here's  luck!" 

The  gardens  were  full  now  of  people  in  light 
summer  dress,  and  in  the  luminous  evening  a  con- 
stant ripple  of  laughter  and  gay  voices  came  up 
to  them.  Peer  looked  curiously  at  the  crowd,  all 
strangers  to  him,  and  asked  his  companion  the 
names  of  some  of  the  people.  Langberg  pointed 
out  one  or  two  celebrities — a  Cabinet  Minister  sit- 
ting near  by,  a  famous  explorer  a  little  farther 
off.  "But  I  don't  know  them  personally,"  he 
added.  "Can't  afford  society  on  that  scale,  of 
course." 

"How  beautiful  it  is  here!"  said  Peer,  look- 
ing out  once  more  at  the  yellow  shimmer  of  light 
above  the  fjord.  "And  how  good  it  is  to  be  home 
againl" 


Chapter  II 

HE  sat  in  the  train  on  his  way  up-country,  and 
from  the  carriage  window  watched  farms  and 
meadows  and  tree-lined  roads  slide  past.  Where 
was  he  going?  He  did  not  know  himself.  Why 
should  not  a  man  start  off  at  haphazard,  and  get 
out  when  the  mood  takes  him?  At  last  he  was  able 
to  travel  through  his  own  country  without  having 
to  think  of  half-pennies.  He  could  let  the  days 
pass  over  his  head  without  care  or  trouble,  and 
give  himself  good  leisure  to  enjoy  any  beauty  that 
came  in  his  way. 

There  is  Mjb'sen,  the  broad  lake  with  the  rich 
farmlands  and  long  wooded  ridges  on  either  side. 
He  had  never  been  here  before,  yet  it  seemed  as 
if  something  in  him  nodded  a  recognition  to  it  all. 
Once  more  he  sat  drinking  in  the  rich,  fruitful 
landscape — the  wooded  hills,  the  fields  and  mead- 
ows seemed  to  spread  themselves  out  over  empty 
places  in  his  mind. 

But  later  in  the  day  the  landscape  narrowed 
and  they  were  in  Gudbrandsdalen,  where  the  sun- 
burned farms  are  set  on  green  slopes  between  the 
river  and  the  mountains.  Peer's  head  was  full  of 
pictures  from  abroad,  from  the  desert  sands  with 
their  scorched  palm-trees  to  the  canals  of  Venice. 

131 


132  The  Great  Hunger 

But  here — lie  nodded  again.  Here  he  was  at  home, 
though  he  had  never  seen  the  place  before;  just 
this  it  was  which  had  been  calling  to  him  all 
through  his  long  years  of  exile. 

At  last  on  a  sudden  he  gathered  up  his  traps 
and  got  out,  without  the  least  idea  even  of  the 
name  of  the  station.  A  meal  at  the  hotel,  a  knap- 
sack on  his  back,  and  hey! — there  before  him  lies 
the  road,  up  into  the  hills. 

Alone  f  What  matter,  when  there  are  endless 
things  that  greet  him  from  every  side  with  "  Wel- 
come home!"  The  road  is  steep,  the  air  grows 
lighter,  the  homesteads  smaller.  At  last  the  huts 
look  like  little  matchboxes — from  the  valley,  no 
doubt,  it  must  seem  as  if  the  people  up  here  were 
living  among  the  clouds.  But  many  and  many  a 
youth  must  have  followed  this  road  in  the  even- 
ings, going  up  to  court  his  Mari  or  his  Kari  at  the 
sseter-hut,  the  same  road  and  the  same  errand  one 
generation  after  another.  To  Peer  it  seemed  as  if 
all  those  lads  now  bore  him  company — aye,  as  if 
he  discovered  in  himself  something  of  wanton 
youth  that  had  managed  to  get  free  at  last. 

Puh!  His  coat  must  come  off  and  his  cap  go 
into  the  knapsack.  Now,  as  the  valley  sinks  and 
sinks  farther  beneath  him,  the  view  across  it 
widens  farther  and  farther  out  over  the  uplands 
beyond.  Brown  hills  and  blue,  ridges  livid  or 
mossy-grey  in  the  setting  sun,  rising  and  falling 
wave  behind  wave,  and  beyond  all  a  great  snow- 
field,  like  a  sea  of  white  breakers  foaming  against 


The  Great  Hunger  133 

the  sky.    But  surely  he  had  seen  all  this  before? 

Ah !  now  he  knew ;  it  was  the  Lofoten  Sea  over 
again — with  its  white  foam-crested  combers  and 
long-drawn,  heavy-breathing  swell — a  rolling 
ocean  turned  to  rock.  Peer  halted  a  moment  lean- 
ing on  his  stick,  and  his  eyes  half -closed.  Could 
he  not  feel  that  same  ocean-swell  rising  and  sink- 
ing in  his  own  being!  Did  not  the  same  waves 
surge  through  the  centuries,  carrying  the  genera- 
tions away  with  them  upon  great  wanderings? 
And  in  daily  life  the  wave  rolls  us  along  in  the 
old  familiar  rhythm,  and  not  one  in  ten  thousand 
lifts  his  head  above  it  to  ask:  whither  and  whyl 
Even  now  just  such  a  little  wave  has  hold  of  him, 
taking  him — whither  and  why?  Well,  the  coming 
days  might  show;  meanwhile,  there  beyond  was 
the  sea  of  stone  rolling  its  eternal  cadence  under 
the  endless  sky. 

He  wiped  his  forehead  and  turned  and  went  his 
way. 

But  what  is  that  far  off  in  the  north-east?  three 
sisters  in  white  shawls,  lifting  their  heads  to 
heaven — that  must  be  Rondane.  And  see  how  the 
evening  sun  is  kindling  the  white  peaks  to  purple 
and  gold. 

Puh! — only  one  more  hill  now,  and  here  is  the 
top  at  last.  And  there  ahead  lie  the  great  up- 
lands, with  marsh  and  mound  and  gleaming  tarns. 
Ah,  what  a  relief!  What  wonder  that  his  step 
grows  lighter  and  quicker?  Before  he  knows  it  he 
is  singing  aloud  in  mere  gaiety  of  heart.  Ah,  dear 


134  The  Great  Hunger 

God,  what  if  after  all  it  were  not  too  late  to  be 
young ! 

A  sseter.  A  little  hut,  standing  on  a  patch  of 
green,  with  split-stick  fence  and  a  long  cow-house 
of  rough  planks — it  must  be  a  saeter !  And  listen 
— isn't  that  a  girl  singing?  Peer  slipped  softly 
through  the  gate  and  stood  listening  against  the 
wall  of  the  byre.  "Shap,  shap,  shap,"  went  the 
streams  of  milk  against  the  pail.  It  must  be  a 
fairy  sitting  milking  in  there.  Then  came  the 
voice : 

Oh,  Sunday  eve,  oh,  Sunday  eve, 
Ever  wast  thou  my  dearest  eve! 

"Shap,  shap,  shap!"  went  the  milk  once  more 
in  the  pail — and  suddenly  Peer  joined  in: 

Oh  bright,  oh  gentle  Sunday  eve — 
Wilt  ever  be  my  dearest  eve! 

The  milking  stopped,  a  cowbell  tinkled  as  the 
cow  turned  her  inquiring  face,  and  a  girl's  light- 
brown  head  of  hair  was  thrust  out  of  the  doorway 
— soon  followed  by  the  girl  herself,  slender,  eight- 
een, red-cheeked,  fresh  and  smiling. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Peer,  stretching  out  his 
hand. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  cast 
a  glance  at  her  own  clothes — as  women  will  when 
they  see  a  man  who  takes  their  fancy. 

"An'  who  may  you  be?"  she  asked. 

"Can  you  cook  me  some  cream-porridge! " 

"A*  must  finish  milking  first,  then." 


The  Great  Hunger  135 

Here  was  a  job  that  Peer  could  help  with.  He 
took  off  his  knapsack,  washed  his  hands,  and  was 
soon  seated  on  a  stool  in  the  close  sweet  air  of 
the  shed,  milking  busily.  Then  he  fetched  water, 
and  chopped  some  wood  for  the  fire,  the  girl  gaz- 
ing at  him  all  the  time,  no  doubt  wondering  who 
this  crazy  person  could  be.  When  the  porridge 
stood  ready  on  the  table,  he  insisted  on  her  sitting 
down  close  to  him  and  sharing  the  meal.  They 
ate  a  little,  and  then  laughed  a  little,  and  then 
chatted,  and  then  ate  and  then  laughed  again. 
When  he  asked  what  he  had  to  pay,  the  girl  said : 
"Whatever  you  like" — and  he  gave  her  two 
crowns  and  then  bent  her  head  back  and  kissed 
her  lips.  "What's  the  man  up  to?"  he  heard  her 
gasp  behind  him  as  he  passed  out;  when  he  had 
gone  a  good  way  and  turned  to  look  back,  there 
she  was  in  the  doorway,  shading  her  eyes  and 
watching  him. 

Whither  away  now?  Well,  he  was  pretty  sure 
to  reach  some  other  inhabited  place  before  night. 
This,  he  felt,  was  not  his  abiding-place.  No,  it 
was  not  here. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  stood  by  the 
shore  of  a  broad  mountain  lake,  beneath  a  snow- 
flecked  hill-side.  Here  were  a  couple  of  sseters, 
and  across  the  lake,  on  a  wooded  island,  stood  a 
small  frame  house  that  looked  like  some  city  peo- 
ple's summer  cottage.  And  see — over  the  lake, 
that  still  mirrored  the  evening  red,  a  boat  ap- 


136  The  Great  Hunger 

peared  moving  towards  the  island,  and  two  white- 
sleeved  girls  sat  at  the  oars,  singing  as  they  rowed. 
A  strange  feeling  came  over  him.  Here — here  he 
wonld  stay. 

In  the  ssster-hut  stood  an  enormously  fat 
woman,  with  a  rope  round  her  middle,  evidently 
ready  to  go  to  bed.  Could  she  put  him  up  for  the 
night?  Why,  yes,  she  supposed  so — and  she  rolled 
off  into  another  room.  And  soon  he  was  lying 
in  a  tiny  chamber,  in  a  bed  with  a  mountainous 
mattress  and  a  quilt.  There  was  a  fresh  smell 
from  the  juniper  twigs  strewed  about  the  newly- 
washed  floor,  and  the  cheeses,  which  stood  in  rows 
all  round  the  shelf-lined  walls.  Ah !  he  had  slept 
in  many  places  and  fashions — at  sea  in  a  Lofoten 
boat;  on  the  swaying  back  of  a  camel;  in  tents 
out  in  the  moonlit  desert;  and  in  palaces  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  where  dwarfs  fanned  him  with 
palm-leaves  to  drive  away  the  heat,  and  called  him 
pasha.  But  here,  at  last,  he  had  found  a  place 
where  it  was  good  to  be.  And  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  lay  listening  to  the  murmur  of  a  little  stream 
outside  in  the  light  summer  night,  till  he  fell 
asleep. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  of  the  next  day  he  was 
awakened  by  the  entry  of  the  old  woman  with 
coffee.  Then  a  plunge  into  the  blue-green  water 
of  the  mountain  lake,  a  short  swim,  and  back  to 
find  grilled  trout  and  new-baked  waffles  and  thick 
cream  for  lunch. 


The  Great  Hunger  137 

Yes,  said  the  old  woman,  if  he  could  get  along 
with  the  sort  of  victuals  she  could  cook,  he  might 
stay  here  a  few  days  and  welcome.  The  bed  was 
standing  there  empty,  anyway. 


Chapter  III 

So  Peer  stays  on  and  goes  fishing.  He  catches 
little;  but  time  goes  leisurely  here,  and  the  sum- 
mer lies  soft  and  warm  over  the  brown  and  blue 
hillsides.  He  has  soon  learned  that  a  merchant 
named  Uthoug,  from  Eingeby,  is  living  in  the 
house  on  the  island,  with  his  wife  and  daughter. 
And  what  of  it! 

Often  he  would  lie  in  his  boat,  smoking  his  pipe, 
and  giving  himself  up  to  quiet  dreams  that  came 
and  passed.  A  young  girl  in  a  white  boat,  mov- 
ing over  red  waters  in  the  evening — a  secret  meet- 
ing on  an  island — no  one  must  know  just  yet. 
.  .  .  Would  it  ever  happen  to  him?  Ah,  no. 

The  sun  goes  down,  there  come  sounds  of  cow- 
bells nearing  the  sasters,  the  musical  cries  and  calls 
of  the  sseter-girls,  the  lowing  of  the  cattle.  The 
mountains  stand  silent  in  the  distance,  their  snow- 
clad  tops  grown  golden;  the  stream  slides  rip- 
pling by,  murmuring  on  through  the  luminous 
nights. 

Then  at  last  came  the  day  of  all  days. 

He  had  gone  out  for  a  long  tramp  at  random 
over  the  hills,  making  his  way  by  compass,  and 
noting  landmarks  to  guide  him  back.  Here  was 
a  marsh  covered  with  cloudberries — the  taste 

138 


The  Great  Hunger  139 

brought  back  his  own  childhood.  He  wandered 
on  up  a  pale-brown  ridge  flecked  with  red  heather 
• — and  what  was  that  ahead?  Smoke?  He  made 
towards  it.  Yes,  it  was  smoke.  A  ptarmigan 
fluttered  out  in  front  of  him,  with  a  brood  of  tiny 
youngsters  at  her  heels — Lord,  what  a  shave! — • 
he  stopped  short  to  avoid  treading  on  them.  The 
smoke  meant  someone  near — possibly  a  camp  of 
Lapps.  Let's  go  and  see. 

He  topped  the  last  mound,  and  there  was  the 
fire  just  below.  Two  girls  jumped  to  their  feet; 
there  was  a  bright  coffee-kettle  on  the  fire,  and 
on  the  moss-covered  ground  close  by  bread  and 
butter  and  sandwiches  laid  out  on  a  paper  table- 
cloth. 

Peer  stopped  short  in  surprise.  The  girls  gazed 
at  him  for  a  moment,  and  he  at  them,  all  three 
with  a  hesitating  smile. 

At  last  Peer  lifted  his  hat  and  asked  the  way  to 
Eustad  sseter.  It  took  them  some  time  to  explain 
this,  and  then  they  asked  him  the  time.  He  told 
them  exactly  to  the  minute,  and  then  showed  them 
his  watch  so  that  they  might  see  for  themselves. 
All  this  took  more  time.  Meanwhile,  they  had 
inspected  each  other,  and  found  no  reason  to  part 
company  just  yet.  One  of  the  girls  was  tall,  slen- 
der of  figure,  with  a  warm-coloured  oval  face  and 
dark  brown  hair.  Her  eyebrows  were  thick  and 
met  above  the  nose,  delightful  to  look  at.  She 
wore  a  blue  serge  dress,  with  the  skirt  kilted  up  a 
little,  leaving  her  ankles  visible.  The  other  was  a 


140  The  Great  Hunger 

blonde,  smaller  of  stature,  and  with  a  melancholy 
face,  though  she  smiled  constantly.  "Oh,"  she 
said  suddenly,  "have  you  a  pocket-knife  by  any 
chance?" 

"Oh  yes!"  Peer  was  just  moving  off,  but 
gladly  seized  the  opportunity  to  stay  a  while. 

"We've  a  tin  of  sardines  here,  and  nothing  to 
open  it  with,"  said  the  dark  one. 

"Let  me  try,"  said  Peer.  As  luck  would  have 
it,  he  managed  to  cut  himself  a  little,  and  the  two 
girls  tumbled  over  each  other  to  tie  up  the  wound. 
It  ended,  of  course,  with  their  asking  him  to  join 
their  coffee-party. 

"My  name  is  Merle  Uthoug,"  said  the  dark  one, 
with  a  curtsy. 

"Oh,  then,  it's  your  father  who  has  the  place 
on  the  island  in  the  lake  ? ' ' 

"My  name's  only  Mork — Thea  Mork.  My 
father  is  a  lawyer,  and  we  have  a  little  cottage 
farther  up  the  lake,"  said  the  blonde. 

Peer  was  about  to  introduce  himself,  when  the 
dark  girl  interrupted:  "Oh,  we  know  you  al- 
ready," she  said.  "We've  seen  you  out  rowing  on 
the  lake  so  often.  And  we  had  to  find  out  who 
you  were.  We  have  a  good  pair  of  glasses  ..." 

"Merle!"  broke  in  her  companion  warningly. 

"...  and  then,  yesterday,  we  sent  one  of  the 
maids  over  reconnoitring,  to  make  inquiries  and 
bring  us  a  full  report." 

' '  Merle !    How  can  you  say  such  things  ? ' ' 

It  was  a  cheery  little  feast.    Ah!  how  young 


The  Great  Hunger  141 

they  were,  these  two  girls,  and  how  they  laughed 
at  a  joke,  and  what  quantities  of  bread  and  but- 
ter and  coffee  they  all  three  disposed  of!  Merle 
now  and  again  would  give  their  companion  a  side- 
long glance,  while  Thea  laughed  at  all  the  wild 
things  her  friend  said,  and  scolded  her,  and  looked 
anxiously  at  Peer. 

And  now  the  sun  was  nearing  the  shoulder  of  a 
hill  far  in  the  west,  and  evening  was  falling.  They 
packed  up  their  things,  and  Peer  was  loaded  up 
with  a  big  bag  of  cloud-berries  on  his  back,  and  a 
tin  pail  to  carry  in  his  hand.  "Give  him  some 
more,"  said  Merle.  "It'll  do  him  good  to  work 
for  a  change." 

1 '  Merle,  you  really  are  too  bad  I ' ' 

"Here  you  are,"  said  the  girl,  and  slid  the  han- 
dle of  a  basket  into  his  other  hand. 

Then  they  set  out  down  the  hill.  Merle  sang 
and  yodelled  as  they  went;  then  Peer  sang,  and 
then  they  all  three  sang  together.  And  when  they 
came  to  a  heather-tussock  or  a  puddle,  they  did 
not  trouble  to  go  round,  but  just  jumped  over  it, 
and  then  gave  another  jump  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing. 

They  passed  the  sseter  and  went  on  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  Peer  proposed  to  row  them 
home.  And  so  they  rowed  across.  And  the  whole 
time  they  sat  talking  and  laughing  together  as  if 
they  had  known  each  other  for  years. 

The  boat  touched  land  just  below  the  cottage, 
and  a  broad-shouldered  man  with  a  grey  beard 


142  The  Great  Hunger 

and  a  straw  hat  came  down  to  meet  them.  "Oh, 
father,  are  you  back  again? "  cried  Merle,  and, 
springing  ashore,  she  flung  her  arms  round  his 
neck.  The  two  exchanged  some  whispered  words, 
and  the  father  glanced  at  Peer.  Then,  taking  off 
his  hat,  he  came  towards  him  and  said  politely, 
"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  help  the  girls  down.*' 

"This  is  Herr  Holm,  engineer  and  Egyptian," 
said  Merle,  "and  this  is  father. " 

"I  hear  we  are  neighbours,"  said  Uthoug. 
"We're  just  going  to  have  tea,  so  if  you  have 
nothing  better  to  do,  perhaps  you  will  join  us." 

Outside  the  cottage  stood  a  grey-haired  lady 
with  a  pale  face,  wearing  spectacles.  She  had  a 
thick  white  woollen  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  but 
even  so  she  seemed  to  feel  cold.  "Welcome," 
she  said,  and  Peer  thought  there  was  a  tremor 
in  her  voice. 

There  were  two  small  low  rooms  with  an  open 
fireplace  in  the  one,  and  in  it  there  stood  a  table 
ready  laid.  But  from  the  moment  Merle  entered 
the  house,  she  took  command  of  everything,  and 
whisked  in  and  out.  Soon  there  was  the  sound 
of  fish  cooking  in  the  kitchen,  and  a  moment  later 
she  came  in  with  a  plate  full  of  lettuce,  and  said : 
"Mr.  Egyptian — you  can  make  us  an  Arabian 
salad,  can't  you?" 

Peer  was  delighted.  "I  should  think  so,"  he 
said. 

"You'll  find  salt  and  pepper  and  vinegar  and 
oil  on  the  table  there,  and  that's  all  we  possess  in 


The  Great  Hunger  143 

the  way  of  condiments.  But  it  nrast  be  a  real 
Arabian  salad  all  the  same,  if  you  please !"  And 
out  she  went  again,  while  Peer  busied  himself 
with  the  salad. 

"I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  daughter,"  said 
Fru  Uthoug,  turning  her  pale  face  towards  him 
and  looking  through  her  spectacles.  "She  is  not 
really  so  wild  as  she  seems. " 

Uthoug  himself  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
chatting  to  Peer  and  asking  a  great  many  ques- 
tions about  conditions  in  Egypt.  He  knew  some- 
thing about  the  Mahdi,  and  General  Gordon,  and 
Khartoum,  and  the  strained  relations  between  the 
Khedive  and  the  Sultan.  He  was  evidently  a  dili- 
gent reader  of  the  newspapers,  and  Peer  gathered 
that  he  was  a  Kadical,  and  a  man  of  some  weight 
in  his  party.  And  he  looked  as  if  there  was  plenty 
of  fire  smouldering  under  his  reddish  eyelids :  "A 
bad  man  to  fall  out  with,"  thought  Peer. 

They  sat  down  to  supper,  and  Peer  noticed 
that  Fru  Uthoug  grew  less  pale  and  anxious  as 
her  daughter  laughed  and  joked  and  chattered. 
There  even  came  a  slight  glow  at  last  into  the 
faded  cheeks;  the  eyes  behind  the  spectacles 
seemed  to  shine  with  a  light  borrowed  from  her 
daughter's.  But  her  husband  seemed  not  to  no- 
tice anything,  and  tried  all  the  time  to  go  on  talk- 
ing about  the  Mahdi  and  the  Khedive  and  the 
Sultan. 

So  for  the  first  time  for  many  years  Peer  sat 
down  to  table  in  a  Norwegian  home — and  how 


144  The  Great  Hunger 

good  it  was  I  Would  lie  ever  have  a  home  of  his 
own,  he  wondered. 

After  the  meal,  a  mandolin  was  brought  out, 
and  they  sat  round  the  fire  in  the  great  fireplace 
and  had  some  music.  Until  at  last  Merle  rose 
and  said:  "Now,  mother,  it's  time  you  went  to 
bed." 

"Yes,  dear,"  came  the  answer  submissively, 
and  Fru  Uthoug  said  good-night,  and  Merle  led 
her  off. 

Peer  had  risen  to  take  leave,  when  Merle  came 
in  again.  "Why,"  she  said,  "you're  surely  not 
going  off  before  you've  rowed  Thea  home?" 

"Oh,  Merle,  please  ..."  put  in  the  other. 

But  when  the  two  had  taken  their  places  in  the 
boat  and  were  just  about  to  start  up  the  lake, 
Merle  came  running  down  and  said  she  might  just 
as  well  come  too. 

Half  an  hour  later,  having  seen  the  young  girl 
safely  ashore  at  her  father's  place,  Merle  and 
Peer  were  alone,  rowing  back  through  the  still 
night  over  the  waters  of  the  lake,  golden  in  the 
light  and  dark  blue  in  the  shadows.  Merle  leaned 
back  in  the  stern,  silent,  trailing  a  small  branch 
along  the  surface  of  the  water  behind.  After 
a  while  Peer  laid  in  his  oars  and  let  the  boat 
drift. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  he  said. 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  and  looked  round. 
"Yes,"  she  answered,  and  Peer  fancied  her  voice 
had  taken  a  new  tone. 


The  Great  Himger  145 

It  was  past  midnight.  Heights  and  woods  and 
sffiters  lay  lifeless  in  the  soft  suffused  reddish 
light.  The  lake-trout  were  not  rising  any  more, 
but  now  and  again  the  screech  of  a  cock-ptarmi- 
gan could  be  heard  among  the  withies. 

""What  made  you  come  just  here  for  your  holi- 
day, I  wonder, ' '  she  asked  suddenly. 

"I  leave  everything  to  chance,  Froken  Uthoug. 
It  just  happened  so.  It's  all  so  homelike  here, 
wherever  one  goes.  And  it  is  so  wonderful  to  be 
home  in  Norway  again." 

"But  haven't  you  been  to  see  your  people — 
your  father  and  mother — since  you  came  home  ? ' ' 

"I !  Do  you  suppose  I  have  a  father  and 

mother  ? ' ' 

1  'But  near  relations — surely  you  must  have  a 
brother  or  sister  somewhere  in  the  world?" 

"Ah,  if  one  only  had!  Though,  after  all,  one 
can  get  on  without." 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly,  as  if  trying  to 
see  whether  he  spoke  in  earnest.  Then  she  said : 

"Do  you  know  that  mother  dreamed  of  you 
before  you  came?" 

"Of  me?"  Peer's  eyes  opened  wide.  "What 
did  she  dream  about  me?" 

A  sudden  flush  came  to  the  girl's  face,  and  she 
shook  her  head.  "It's  foolish  of  me  to  sit  here 
and  tell  you  all  this.  But  you  see  that  was  why 
we  wanted  so  much  to  find  out  about  you  when 
you  came.  And  it  gives  me  a  sort  of  feeling  of 
our  having  known  each  other  a  long  time." 


146  The  Great  Hunger 

"You  appear  to  have  a  very  constant  flow  of 
high  spirits,  Froken  Uthoug ! ' ' 

"I?  "Why  do  you  think ?  Oh,  well,  yes. 

One  can  come  by  most  things,  you  know,  if  one 
has  to  have  them.*' 

"Even  high  spirits?" 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  towards  the 
shore.  "Some  day  perhaps — if  we  should  come 
to  be  friends — I'll  tell  you  more  about  it." 

Peer  bent  to  his  oars  and  rowed  on.  The  still- 
ness of  the  night  drew  them  nearer  and  nearer 
together,  and  made  them  silent ;  only  now  and  then 
they  would  look  at  each  other  and  smile. 

"What  mysterious  creature  is  this  I  have  come 
upon?"  thought  Peer.  She  might  be  about  one- 
or  two-and-twenty.  She  sat  there  with  bowed 
head,  and  in  this  soft  glow  the  oval  face  had  a 
strange  light  of  dreams  upon  it.  But  suddenly 
her  glance  came  back  and  rested  on  him  again, 
and  then  she  smiled,  and  he  saw  that  her  mouth 
was  large  and  her  lips  full  and  red. 

"I  wish  I  had  been  all  over  the  world,  like  you," 
she  said. 

"Have  you  never  been  abroad,  Froken 
Uthoug?"  he  asked. 

"I  spent  a  winter  in  Berlin,  once,  and  a  few 
months  in  South  Germany.  I  played  the  violin 
a  little,  you  see;  and  I  hoped  to  take  it  up  seri- 
ously abroad  and  make  something  of  it — but " 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  you?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  little,  then  at  last  she  said: 


The  Great  Hunger  147 

"I  suppose  you  are  sure  to  know  about  it  some 
day,  so  I  may  just  as  well  tell  you  now.  Mother 
has  been  out  of  her  mind." 

"My  dear  Froken " 

"And  when  she's  at  home  my — high  spirits  are 
needed  to  help  her  to  be  more  or  less  herself." 

He  felt  an  impulse  to  rise  and  go  to  the  girl, 
and  take  her  head  between  his  hands.  But  she 
looked  up,  with  a  melancholy  smile ;  their  eyes  met 
in  a  long  look,  and  she  forgot  to  withdraw  her 
glance. 

"I  must  go  ashore  now,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  so  soon!  Why,  we  have  hardly  begun  our 
talk!" 

"I  must  go  ashore  now,"  she  repeated;  and  her 
voice,  though  still  gentle,  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

At  last  Peer  was  alone,  rowing  back  to  his  saeter. 
As  he  rowed  he  watched  the  girl  going  slowly  up 
towards  the  cottage.  When  she  reached  the  door 
she  turned  for  the  first  time  and  waved  to  him. 
Then  she  stood  for  a  moment  looking  after  him, 
and  then  opened  the  door  and  disappeared.  He 
gazed  at  the  door  some  time  longer,  as  if  expect- 
ing to  see  it  open  again,  but  no  sign  of  life  was 
to  be  seen. 

The  sun's  rim  was  showing  now  above  the  dis- 
tant ranges  in  the  east,  and  the  white  peaks  in  the 
north  and  west  kindled  in  the-  morning  glow. 
Peer  laid  in  his  oars  again,  and  rested,  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  head  in  his  hands. 


148  The  Great  Hunger 

What  could  this  thing  be  that  had  befallen  him  to- 
day? 

How  could  those  peaks  stand  round  so  aloof  and 
indifferent,  and  leave  him  here  disconsolate  and 
alone? 

What  was  it,  this  new  rushing  in  his  ears ;  this 
new  rhythm  of  his  pulse!  He  lay  back  at  last  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat,  with  hands  clasped  be- 
hind his  head,  and  let  boat  and  all  things  drift. 

And  when  the  glare  of  the  rising  sun  came  slant- 
ing into  the  boat  and  beat  dazzlingly  in  his  face, 
he  only  turned  his  head  a  little  and  let  it  shine 
full  upon  him. 

Now  she  is  lying  asleep  over  there,  the  morn- 
ing streaming  red  through  her  window — of  whom 
is  she  dreaming  as  she  sleeps? 

Have  you  ever  seen  such  eyebrows  before?  To 
press  one's  lips  to  them — to  take  her  head  be- 
tween one's  hand  .  .  .  and  so  it  is  to  save  your 
mother  that  you  give  up  your  own  dreams,  and 
to  warm  her  soul  that  you  keep  that  flame  of  glad- 
ness burning  in  you?  Is  that  the  sort  you  are? 

Merle — was  ever  such  a  name?  Are  you  called 
Merle  ? 

Day  spreads  over  the  heavens,  kindling  all  the 
night-clouds,  great  and  small,  to  gold  and  scarlet. 
And  here  he  lies,  rocking,  rocking,  on  no  lake,  but 
on  a  red  stately-heaving  ocean  swell. 

Ah !  till  now  your  mind  has  been  so  filled  with 
cold  mechanics,  with  calculations,  with  steel  and 
fire.  More  and  more  knowledge,  ever  more  striv- 


The  Great  Hunger  149 

ing  to  understand  all  things,  to  know  all,  to  master 
all.  But  meanwhile,  the  tones  of  the  hymn  died 
within  you,  and  the  hunger  for  that  which  lies 
beyond  all  things  grew  ever  fiercer  and  fiercer. 
You  thought  it  was  Norway  that  you  needed — and 
now  you  are  here.  But  is  it  enough? 

Merle — is  your  name  Merle? 

There  is  nothing  that  can  be  likened  to  the  first 
day  of  love.  All  your  learning,  your  travel,  and 
deeds  and  dreams — all  has  been  nothing  but  dry 
firewood  that  you  have  dragged  and  heaped  to- 
gether. And  now  has  come  a  spark,  and  the  whole 
heap  blazes  up,  casting  its  red  glow  over  earth 
and  heaven,  and  you  stretch  out  your  cold  hands, 
and  warm  them,  and  shiver  with  joy  that  a  new 
bliss  has  come  upon  the  earth. 

And  all  that  you  could  not  understand — the 
relation  between  the  spark  of  eternity  in  your  soul 
and  the  Power  above,  and  the  whole  of  endless 
space — has  all  of  a  sudden  become  so  clear  that 
you  lie  here  trembling  with  joy  at  seeing  to  the 
very  bottom  of  the  infinite  enigma. 

You  have  but  to  take  her  by  the  hand,  and 
"Here  are  we  two/'  you  say  to  the  powers  of  life 
and  death.  "Here  is  she  and  here  am  I — we  two" 
— and  you  send  the  anthem  rolling  aloft — a  strain 
from  little  Louise's  fiddle-bow  mingling  with  it — - 
not  to  the  vaultings  of  any  church,  but  into  endless 
space  itself.  And  Thou,  Power  above,  now  I 
understand  Thee.  How  could  I  ever  take  seri- 
ously a  Power  that  sat  on  high  playing  with  Sin 


150  The  Great  Hunger 

and  Grace — but  now  I  see  Thee,  not  the  blood- 
thirsty Jehovah,  but  a  golden-haired  youth,  the 
Light  itself.  We  two  worship  Thee;  not  with  a 
wail  of  prayer,  but  with  a  great  anthem,  that 
has  the  World-All  in  it.  All  our  powers,  our 
knowledge,  our  dreams — all  are  there.  And  each 
has  its  own  instrument,  its  own  voice  in  the  mighty 
chorus.  The  dawn  reddening  over  the  hills  is  with 
us.  The  goat  grazing  on  that  northern  hillside, 
dazzled  with  sun-gold  when  it  turns  its  head  to 
the  east — it  is  with  us,  too.  The  waking  birds  are 
with  us.  A  frog,  crawling  up  out  of  a  puddle 
and  stopping  to  wonder  at  the  morning — it  is 
there.  Even  the  little  insect  with  diamonds  on 
its  wings — and  the  grass-blade  with  its  pearl  of 
dew,  trying  to  mirror  as  much  of  the  sky  as  it 
can — it  is  there,  it  is  there,  it  is  there.  We  are 
standing  amid  Love's  first  day,  and  there  is  no 
more  talk  of  grace  or  doubt  or  faith  or  need  of 
aid;  only  a  rushing  sound  of  music  rising  to 
heaven  from  all  the  golden  rivers  in  our  hearts. 

The  sasters  were  beginning  to  wake.  Musical 
cries  came  echoing  as  the  sseter-girls  chid  on  the 
cattle,  that  moved  slowly  up  to  the  northern 
heights,  with  lowings  and  tinkling  of  bells.  But 
Peer  lay  still  where  he  was — and  presently  the 
dairy-maid  at  the  saeter  caught  sight  of  what 
seemed  an  empty  boat  drifting  on  the  lake,  and 
was  afraid  some  accident  had  happened. 

" Merle,"  thought  Peer,  still  lying  motionless. 
"Is  your  name  Merle! " 


The  Great  Hunger  151 

The  dairy-maid  was  down  by  the  waterside  now, 
calling  across  toward  the  boat.  And  at  last  she 
saw  a  man  sit  up,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"Mercy  on  us!"  she  cried.  "Lord  be  thanked 
that  you're  there.  And  you  haven't  been  in  the 
whole  blessed  night  I" 

A  goat  with  a  broken  leg,  set  in  splints,  had  been 
left  to  stray  at  will  about  the  cattle-pens  and  in 
and  out  of  the  house,  while  its  leg-bones  were  set- 
ting. Peer  must  needs  pick  up  the  creature  and 
carry  it  round  for  a  while  in  his  arms,  though 
it  at  once  began  chewing  at  his  beard.  When  he 
sat  down  to  the  breakfast-table,  he  found  some- 
thing so  touching  in  the  look  of  the  cream  and  but- 
ter, the  bread  and  the  coffee,  that  it  seemed  a  man 
would  need  a  heart  of  stone  to  be  willing  to  eat 
such  things.  And  when  the  old  woman  said  he 
really  ought  to  get  some  food  into  him,  he  sprang 
up  and  embraced  her,  as  far  as  his  arms  would  go 
round.  "Nice  carryings  on!"  she  cried,  strug- 
gling to  free  herself.  But  when  he  went  so  far 
as  to  imprint  a  sounding  kiss  on  her  forehead, 
she  fetched  him  a  mighty  push.  "Lord!"  she 
said,  "if  the  gomeril  hasn't  gone  clean  out  of  his 
wits  this  last  night!'1 


Chapter  IV 

BINGEBY  lay  on  the  shore  of  a  great  lake;  and 
was  one  of  those  busy  commercial  towns  which 
have  sprung  up  in  the  last  fifty  years  from  a 
nucleus  consisting  of  a  saw-mill  and  a  flour-mill  by 
the  side  of  a  waterfall.  Now  quite  a  number  of 
modern  factories  had  spread  upwards  along  the 
river,  and  the  place  was  a  town  with  some  four 
thousand  inhabitants,  with  a  church  of  its  own,  a 
monster  of  a  school  building,  and  numbers  of  yel- 
low workmen's  dwellings  scattered  about  at  ran- 
dom in  every  direction.  Otherwise  Bingeby  was 
much  like  any  other  little  town.  There  were  two 
lawyers,  who  fought  for  scraps  of  legal  business, 
and  the  editors  of  two  local  papers,  who  were  con- 
stantly at  loggerheads  before  the  Conciliation 
Board.  There  was  a  temperance  lodge  and  Work- 
ers '  Union  and  a  chapel  and  a  picture  palace.  And 
every  Sunday  afternoon  the  good  citizens  of 
Bingeby  walked  out  along  the  fjord,  with  their 
wives  on  their  arms.  On  these  occasions  most  of 
the  men  wore  frock  coats  and  grey  felt  hats ;  but 
Enebak,  the  tanner,  being  hunchbacked,  preferred 
a  tall  silk  hat,  as  better  suited  to  eke  out  his 
height. 

On  Saturday  evenings,  when  twilight  began  to 

153 


The  Great  Hunger  158 

fall,  the  younger  men  would  meet  at  the  corner 
outside  Hammer's  store,  to  discuss  the  events  of 
the  week. 

"Have  you  heard  the  latest  news?"  asked 
Lovli,  the  bank  cashier,  of  his  friend  the  tele- 
graphist, who  came  up. 

"News!  Do  you  tell  me  that  there's  ever  any 
news  in  this  accursed  hole?" 

"  Merle  Uthoug  has  come  back  from  the  moun- 
tains— engaged  to  be  married." 

"The  devil  she  is !  What  does  the  old  man  say 
to  that?" 

"Oh,  well,  the  old  man  will  want  an  engineer 
if  he's  to  get  the  new  timber-mills  into  his 
clutches." 

"Is  the  man  an  engineer?" 

"From  Egypt.  A  Muhammadan,  I  daresay. 
Brown  as  a  coffee-berry,  and  rolling  in  money." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Froken  Bull?  Stop  a  min- 
ute, here's  some  news  for  you." 

The  girl  addressed  turned  aside  and  joined 
them.  "Oh,  the  same  piece  of  news  that's  all  over 
the  town,  I  suppose.  Well,  I  can  tell  you,  he's 
most  tremendously  nice." 

"  Sh ! "  whispered  the  telegraphist.  Peer  Holm 
was  just  coming  out  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  dressed 
in  a  grey  suit,  and  with  a  dark  coat  over  his  arm. 
He  was  trying  to  get  a  newly-lit  cigar  to  draw,  as 
he  walked  with  a  light  elastic  step  past  the  group 
at  the  corner.  A  little  farther  up  the  street  he 
encountered  Merle,  and  took  her  arm,  and  the  two 


154  The  Great  Hunger 

walked  off  together,  the  young  people  at  the  cor- 
ner watching  them  as  they  went. 

"And  when  is  it  to  be?"  asked  the  telegraphist. 

"He  wanted  to  be  married  immediately,  I  be- 
lieve," said  Froken  Bull,  "but  I  suppose  they'll 
have  to  wait  till  the  banns  are  called,  like  other 
people. ' ' 

Lorentz  D.  Uthoug's  long,  yellow-painted 
wooden  house  stood  facing  the  market  square ;  the 
office  and  the  big  ironmonger's  shop  were  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  the  family  lived  in  the  upper 
storeys.  "That's  where  he  lives,"  people  would 
say.  Or  "There  he  goes,"  as  the  broad,  grey- 
bearded  man  passed  down  the  street.  Was  he 
such  a  big  man,  then?  He  could  hardly  be  called 
really  rich,  though  he  had  a  saw-mill  and  a  ma- 
chine-shop and  a  flour-mill,  and  owned  a  country 
place  some  way  out  of  the  town.  But  there  was 
something  of  the  chieftain,  something  of  the 
prophet,  about  him.  He  hated  priests.  He  read 
deep  philosophical  works,  forbade  his  family  to 
go  to  church,  and  had  been  visited  by  Bjornson 
himself.  It  was  good  to  have  him  on  your  side; 
to  have  him  against  you  was  fatal — you  might 
just  as  well  clear  out  of  the  town  altogether.  He 
had  a  finger  in  everything  that  went  on;  it  was 
as  if  he  owned  the  whole  town.  He  had  been 
known  to  meet  a  youth  he  had  never  spoken  to 
before  in  the  street  and  accost  him  with  a  per- 
emptory "Understand  me,  young  man;  you  will 
marry  that  girl."  Yet  for  all  this,  Lorentz 


The  Great  Hunger  155 

Uthoug  was  not  altogether  content.  True,  he  was 
head  and  shoulders  above  all  the  Ringeby  folks, 
but  what  he  really  wanted  was  to  be  the  biggest 
man  in  a  place  a  hundred  times  as  large. 

And  now  that  he  had  found  a  son-in-law,  he 
seemed  as  it  were  to  be  walking  quietly  round 
this  stranger  from  the  great  world,  taking  his 
measure,  and  asking  in  his  thoughts:  "Who  are 
you  at  bottom?  What  have  you  seen?  What 
have  you  read?  Are  you  progressive  or  reac- 
tionary? Have  you  any  proper  respect  for  what 
I  have  accomplished  here,  or  are  you  going  about 
laughing  in  your  sleeve  and  calling  me  a  whale 
among  the  minnows  ?" 

Every  morning  when  Peer  woke  in  his  room  at 
the  hotel  he  rubbed  his  eyes.  On  the  table  beside 
his  bed  stood  a  photograph  of  a  young  girL 
What?  Is  it  really  you,  Peer,  that  have  found 
someone  to  stand  close  to  you  at  last?  Someone 
in  the  world  who  cares  about  you.  When  you 
have  a  cold,  there'll  be  people  to  come  round  and 
be  anxious  about  you,  and  ask  how  you  are  getting 
on.  And  this  to  happen  to  you! 

He  dined  at  the  Uthougs'  every  day,  and  there 
were  always  flowers  beside  his  plate.  Often  there 
would  be  some  little  surprise — a  silver  spoon  or 
fork,  or  a  napkin-ring  with  his  initials  on.  It 
was  like  gathering  the  first  straws  to  make  his 
new  nest.  And  the  pale  woman  with  the  spec- 
tacles looked  kindly  at  him,  as  if  to  say:  "You 
are  taking  her  from  me,  but  I  forgive  you." 


156  The  Great  Hunger 

One  day  he  was  sitting  in  the  hotel,  reading, 
when  Merle  came  in. 

"Will  you  come  for  a  walk?"  she  asked. 

"Good  idea.    Where  shall  we  go  to-day ?" 

"Well,  we  haven't  been  to  see  Aunt  Marit  at 
Bruseth  yet.  We  really  ought  to  go,  you  know. 
I'll  take  you  there  to-day. " 

Peer  found  these  ceremonial  visits  to  his  new 
relatives  quite  amusing;  he  went  round,  as  it 
were,  collecting  uncles  and  aunts.  And  to-day 
there  was  a  new  one.  Well,  why  not? 

"But — my  dear  girl,  have  you  been  crying?" 
he  asked  suddenly,  taking  her  head  in  his  hands. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing.  Come — let's  go  now."  And 
she  thrust  him  gently  away  as  he  tried  to  kiss  her. 
But  the  next  moment  she  dropped  into  a  chair, 
and  sat  looking  thoughtfully  at  him  through  half- 
closed  eyes,  nodding  her  head  very  slightly.  She 
seemed  to  be  asking  herself:  "Who  is  this  man? 
What  is  this  I  am  taking  on  me  ?  A  fortnight  ago 
he  was  an  utter  stranger " 

She  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow.  "It's 
mother — you  know,"  she  said. 

"Is  anything  special  wrong  to-day?" 

"She's  so  afraid  you're  going  to  carry  me  off 
into  the  wide  world  at  a  moment's  notice." 

'But  I've  told  her  we're  going  to  live  here  for 
the  present." 

The  girl  drew  up  one  side  of  her  mouth  in  a 
smile,  and  her  eyelids  almost  closed.  "And  what 


The  Great  Hunger  157 

about  me,  then?  After  living  here  all  these  years 
crazy  to  get  out  into  the  world?" 

"And  I,  who  am  crazy  to  stay  at  home!"  said 
Peer  with  a  laugh.  "How  delicious  it  will  be  to 
have  a  house  and  a  family  at  last — and  peace  and 
quiet!" 

"But  what  about  me?" 

"You'll  be  there,  too.  I'll  let  you  live  with  me." 

"Oh!  how  stupid  you  are  to-day.  If  you  only 
knew  what  it  means,  to  throw  away  the  best  years 
of  one's  youth  in  a  hole  like  this !  And  besides — 
I  could  have  done  somthing  worth  while  in 
music " 

"Why,  then,  let's  go  abroad,  by  all  means," 
said  Peer,  wrinkling  up  his  forehead  as  if  to 
laugh. 

"Oh,  nonsense!  you  know  it's  quite  impossible 
to  go  off  and  leave  mother  now.  But  you  certainly 
came  at  a  very  critical  time.  For  anyway  I  was 
longing  and  longing  just  then  for  someone  to  come 
and  carry  me  off." 

"Aha!  so  I  was  only  a  sort  of  ticket  for  the 
tour."  He  stepped  over  and  pinched  her  nose. 

"Oh!  you'd  better  be  careful.  I  haven't  really 
promised  yet  to  have  you,  you  know." 

"Haven't  promised?  When  you  practically 
asked  me  yourself." 

She  clapped  her  hands  together.  "Why,  what 
shameless  impudence!  After  my  saying  No,  No, 
No,  for  days  together.  I  won't,  I  won't,  I  won't — 
I  said  it  ever  so  many  times.  And  you  said  it 


158  The  Great  Hunger 

didn't  matter — for  you  would.  Yes,  you  took  me 
most  unfairly  off  my  guard ;  but  now  look  out  for 
yourself." 

The  next  moment  she  flung  her  arms  round  his 
neck.  But  when  he  tried  to  kiss  her,  she  pushed 
him  away  again.  "No,"  she  said,  "you  mustn't 
think  I  did  it  for  that!" 

Soon  they  were  walking  arm-in-arm  along  the 
country  road,  on  their  way  to  Aunt  Marit  at 
Bruseth.  It  was  September,  and  all  about  the 
wooded  hills  stood  yellow,  and  the  cornfields  were 
golden  and  the  rowan  berries  blood-red.  But 
there  was  still  summer  in  the  air. 

"Ugh!  how  impossibly  fast  you  walk,"  ex- 
claimed Merle,  stopping  out  of  breath. 

And  when  they  came  to  a  gate  they  sat  down  in 
the  grass  by  the  wayside.  Below  them  was  the 
town,  with  its  many  roofs  and  chimneys  standing 
out  against  the  shining  lake,  that  lay  framed  in 
broad  stretches  of  farm  and  field. 

"Do  you  know  how  it  came  about  that  mother 
is — as  she  is?"  asked  Merle  suddenly. 

"No.    I  didn't  like  to  ask  you  about  it." 

She  drew  a  stalk  of  grass  between  her  lips. 

"Well,  you  see — mother's  father  was  a  clergy- 
man. And  when — when  father  forbade  her  to  go 
to  church,  she  obeyed  him.  But  she  couldn't  sleep 
after  that.  She  felt — as  if  she  had  sold  her  soul. ' ' 

"And  what  did  your  father  say  to  that?" 

"Said  it  was  hysteria.    But,  hysteria  or  not, 


The  Great  Htmger  159 

mother  couldn't  sleep.  And  at  last  they  had  to 
take  her  away  to  a  home." 

"Poor  soul!"  said  Peer,  taking  the  girl's  hand. 

"And  when  she  came  back  from  there  she  was 
so  changed,  one  would  hardly  have  known  her. 
And  father  gave  way  a  little — more  than  he  ever 
used  to  do — and  said:  'Well,  well,  I  suppose  you 
must  go  to  church  if  you  wish,  but  you  mustn't 
mind  if  I  don't  go  with  you.'  And  so  one  Sunday 
she  took  my  hand  and  we  went  together,  but  as  we 
reached  the  church  door,  and  heard  the  organ 
playing  inside,  she  turned  back.  'No — it's  too 
late  now,'  she  said.  'It's  too  late,  Merle.'  And 
she  has  never  been  since." 

"And  she  has  always  been — strange — since 
then!" 

Merle  sighed.  "The  worst  of  it  is  she  sees  so 
many  evil  things  compassing  her  about.  She  says 
the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  laugh  them  away.  But 
she  can't  laugh  herself.  And  so  I  have  to.  But 
when  I  go  away  from  her — oh!  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  it." 

She  hid  her  face  against  his  shoulder,  and  he 
began  stroking  her  hair. 

"Tell  me,  Peer" — she  looked  up  with  her  one- 
sided smile — "who  is  right — mother  or  father!" 

"Have  you  been  trying  to  puzzle  that  out?" 

"Yes.  But  it's  so  hopeless — so  impossible  to 
come  to  any  sort  of  certainty.  What  do  you  think? 
Tell  me  what  you  think,  Peer." 

They  sat  there  alone  in  the  golden  autumn  day, 


160  The  Great  Hunger 

her  head  pressed  against  his  shoulder.  "Why 
should  he  play  the  superior  person  and  try  to 
put  her  off  with  vague  phrases? 

"Dear  Merle,  I  know,  of  course,  no  more  than 
you  do.  There  was  a  time  when  I  saw  God  stand- 
ing with  a  rod  in  one  hand  and  a  sugar-cake  in 
the  other — just  punishment  and  rewards  to  all 
eternity.  Then  I  thrust  Him  from  me,  because 
He  seemed  to  me  so  unjust — and  at  last  He  van- 
ished, melting  into  the  solar  systems  on  high,  and 
all  the  infinitesimal  growths  here  on  the  earth 
below.  What  was  my  life,  what  were  my  dreams, 
my  joy  or  sorrow,  to  these?  Where  was  I  mak- 
ing for  I  Ever  and  always  there  was  something 
in  me  saying:  He  is!  But  where?  Somewhere 
beyond  and  behind  the  things  you  know — it  is 
there  He  is.  And  so  I  determined  to  know  more 
things,  more  and  more  and  more — and  what  wiser 
was  I?  A  steam-hamnier  crushes  my  skull  one 
day — and  what  has  become  of  my  part  in  progress 
and  culture  and  science?  Am  I  as  much  of  an 
accident  as  a  fly  on  an  ant?  Do  I  mean  no  more? 
Do  I  vanish  and  leave  as  little  trace?  Answer 
me  that,  little  Merle — what  do  you  think!" 

The  girl  sat  motionless,  breathing  softly,  with 
closed  eyes.  Then  she  began  to  smile — and  her 
lips  were  full  and  red,  and  at  last  they  shaped 
themselves  to  a  kiss. 

Bruseth  was  a  large  farm  lying  high  above  the 
town,  with  its  garden  and  avenues  and  long  ve- 


The  Great  Hunger  161 

randahs  round  the  white  dwelling-house.  And 
what  a  view  out  over  the  lake  and  the  country 
far  around !  The  two  stood  for  a  moment  at  the 
gate,  looking  back. 

Merle's  aunt — her  father's  sister — was  a  widow, 
rich  and  a  notable  manager,  but  capricious  to  a 
degree,  capable  of  being  generous  one  day  and 
grasping  the  next.  It  was  the  sorrow  of  her  life 
that  she  had  no  children  of  her  own,  but  she  had 
not  yet  decided  who  was  to  be  her  heir. 

She  came  sailing  into  the  room  where  the  two 
young  people  were  waiting,  and  Peer  saw  her 
coming  towards  them,  a  tall,  full-bosomed  woman 
with  grey  hair  and  florid  colour.  Oho!  here's  an 
aunt  for  you  with  a  vengeance,  he  thought.  She 
pulled  off  a  blue  apron  she  was  wearing  and  ap- 
peared dressed  in  a  black  woollen  gown,  with  a 
gold  chain  about  her  neck  and  long  gold  earrings. 

"So  you  thought  you'd  come  over  at  last,"  she 
said.  "Actually  remembered  my  existence,  after 
all,  did  you,  Merle?"  She  turned  towards  Peer, 
and  stood  examining  him,  with  her  hands  on  her 
hips.  "So  that's  what  you  look  like,  is  it,  Peer? 
And  you're  the  man  that  was  to  catch  Merle? 
Well,  you  see  I  call  you  Peer  at  once,  even  though 
you  have  come  all  the  way  from — Arabia,  is  it? 
Sit  down,  sit  down." 

Wine  was  brought  in,  and  Aunt  Marit  of  Bru- 
seth  lifted  a  congratulatory  glass  toward  the  pair 
with  the  following  words : 

"You'll  fight,  of  course.    But  don't  overdo  it, 


162  The  Great  Hunger 

that's  all.  And  mark  my  words,  Peer  Holm,  if 
you  aren't  good  to  her,  I'll  come  round  one  fine 
day  and  warm  your  ears  for  you.  Your  healths, 
children!" 

The  two  went  homewards  arm-in-arm,  dancing 
down  the  hillsides,  and  singing  gaily  as  they  went. 
But  suddenly,  when  they  were  still  some  way 
from  the  town,  Merle  stopped  and  pointed. 
" There,"  she  whispered — "there's  mother!" 

A  solitary  woman  was  walking  slowly  in  the 
twilight  over  a  wide  field  of  stubble,  looking 
around  her.  It  was  as  if  she  were  lingering  here 
to  search  out  the  meaning  of  something — of  many 
things.  From  time  to  time  she  would  glance  up 
at  the  sky,  or  at  the  town  below,  or  at  people 
passing  on  the  road,  and  then  she  would  nod  her 
head.  How  infinitely  far  off  she  seemed,  how  ut- 
terly a  stranger  to  all  the  noisy  doings  of  men! 
What  was  she  seeing  now?  What  were  her 
thoughts? 

"Let  us  go  on,"  whispered  Merle,  drawing  him 
with  her.  And  the  young  girl  suddenly  began  to 
sing,  loudly,  as  if  in  an  overflow  of  spirits;  and 
Peer  guessed  that  it  was  for  her  mother's  sake. 
Perhaps  the  lonely  woman  stood  there  now  in 
the  twilight  smiling  after  them. 

One  Sunday  morning  Merle  drove  up  to  the  hotel 
in  a  light  cart  with  a  big  brown  horse;  Peer  came 
out  and  climbed  in,  leaving  the  reins  to  her.  They 
were  going  out  along  the  fjord  to  look  at  her 


The  Great  Hunger  163 

father's  big  estate  which  in  olden  days  had  been 
the  County  Governors'  official  residence. 

It  is  the  end  of  September.  The  sun  is  still 
warm,  but  the  waters  of  the  lake  are  grey  and  all 
the  fields  are  reaped.  Here  and  there  a  strip  of 
yellowing  potato-stalks  lies  waiting  to  be  dug  up. 
Up  on  the  hillsides  horses  tethered  for  grazing 
stand  nodding  their  heads  slowly,  as  if  they  knew 
that  it  was  Sunday.  And  a  faint  mist  left  by  the 
damps  of  the  night  floats  about  here  and  there 
over  the  broad  landscape. 

They  passed  through  a  wood,  and  came  on  the 
other  side  to  an  avenue  of  old  ash  trees,  that 
turned  up  from  the  road  and  ran  uphill  to  a  big 
house  where  a  flag  was  flying.  The  great  white 
dwelling-house  stood  high,  as  if  to  look  out  far 
over  the  world;  the  red  farm-buildings  enclosed 
the  wide  courtyard  on  three  sides,  and  below  were 
gardens  and  broad  lands,  sloping  down  towards 
the  lake.  Something  like  an  estate  I 

"What's  the  name  of  that  place?"  cried  Peer, 
gazing  at  it. 

"Loreng." 

"And  who  owns  it!" 

"Don't  know,"  answered  the  girl,  cracking  her 
whip. 

Next  moment  the  horse  turned  in  to  the  avenue, 
and  Peer  caught  involuntarily  at  the  reins.  ' '  Hei ! 
Brownie — where  are  you  going?"  he  cried. 

"Why  not  go  up  and  have  a  look  I"  said  Merle. 


164  The  Great  Hunger 

"But  we  were  going  out  to  look  at  your  father's 
place." 

"Well,  that  is  father's  place." 

Peer  stared  at  her  face  and  let  go  the  reins. 
"What?  What?  You  don't  mean  to  say  your 
father  owns  that  place  there!" 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  strolling  through 
the  great,  low-ceiled  rooms.  The  whole  house  was 
empty  now,  the  farm-bailiff  living  in  the  servants ' 
quarters.  Peer  grew  more  and  more  enthusiastic. 
Here,  in  these  great  rooms,  there  had  been  festive 
gatherings  enough  in  the  days  of  the  old  Gov- 
ernors, where  cavaliers  in  uniform  or  with  ele- 
gant shirt-frills  and  golden  spurs  had  kissed  the 
hands  of  ladies  in  sweeping  silk  robes.  Old  ma- 
hogany, pot-pourri,  convivial  song,  wit,  grace — 
Peer  saw  it  all  in  his  mind's  eye,  and  again  and 
again  he  had  to  give  vent  to  his  feelings  by  seiz- 
ing Merle  and  embracing  her. 

"Oh,  but  look  here,  Merle — you  know,  this  is  a 
fairy-tale." 

They  passed  out  into  the  old  neglected  garden 
with  its  grass-grown  paths  and  well-filled  carp- 
ponds  and  tumble-down  pavilions.  Peer  rushed 
about  it  in  all  directions.  Here,  too,  there  had 
been  fetes,  with  coloured  lamps  festooned  around, 
and  couples  whispering  in  the  shade  of  every  bush. 
"Merle,  did  you  say  your  father  was  going  to  sell, 
all  this  to  the  State!" 

"Yes,  that's  what  it  will  come  to,  I  expect," 
she  answered,  "The  place  doesn't  pay,  he  says. 


The  Great  Hivnger  165 

when  lie  can't  live  here  himself  to  look  after  it." 

"But  what  use  can  the  State  make  of  it?" 

"Oh,  a  Home  for  Imbeciles,  I  believe." 

"Good  Lord!  I  might  have  guessed  it!  An 
idiot  asylum — to  be  sure."  He  tramped  about, 
fairly  jumping  with  excitement.  "Merle,  look 
here — will  you  come  and  live  here?" 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  "I 
ask  you,  Merle.  Will  you  come  and  live  here?" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  answer  this  moment,  on 
the  spot?" 

"Yes.  For  I  want  to  buy  it  this  moment,  on 
the  spot." 

"Well,  aren't  you " 

"Look,  Merle,  just  look  at  it  all.  That  long 
balcony  there,  with  the  doric  columns — nothing 
shoddy  about  that — it's  the  real  thing.  Empire. 
I  know  something  about  it." 

"But  it'll  cost  a  great  deal,  Peer."  There  was 
some  reluctance  in  her  voice.  Was  she  thinking 
of  her  violin?  Was  she  loth  to  take  root  tod 
firmly? 

"A  great  deal?"  he  said.  "What  did  your 
father  give  for  it?" 

"The  place  was  sold  by  auction,  and  he  got  it 
cheap.  Fifty  thousand  crowns,  I  think  it  was." 

Peer  strode  off  towards  the  house  again. 
."We'll  buy  it.  It's  the  very  place  to  make  into 
a  home.  .  .  .  Horses,  cattle,  sheep,  goats,  cottars 
—ah!  it'll  be  grand." 

Merle  followed  him  more  slowly.    "But,  Peer, 


166  The  Great  Hunger 

remember  you've  just  taken  over  father's  ma- 
chine-shops  in  town." 

"Pooh!"  said  Peer  scornfully.  "Do  you  think 
I  can't  manage  to  run  that  village  smithy  and 
live  here  too !  Come  along,  Merle. ' '  And  he  took 
her  hand  and  drew  her  into  the  house  again. 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  resist.  He  dragged  her 
from  room  to  room,  furnishing  as  he  went  along. 
"This  room  here  is  the  dining-room — and  that's 
the  hig  reception-room;  this  will  be  the  study — • 
that's  a  boudoir  for  you.  .  .  .  Come  now;  to-mor- 
row we'll  go  into  Christiania  and  buy  the  furni- 
ture." 

Merle  gasped  for  breath.  He  had  got  so  far 
by  this  time  that  the  furnishing  was  complete 
and  they  were  installed.  They  had  a  governess 
already,  and  he  was  giving  parties  too.  Here 
was  the  ballroom.  He  slipped  an  arm  round  her 
waist  and  danced  round  the  room  with  her,  till 
she  was  carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm,  and 
stood  flushed  and  beaming,  while  all  she  had 
dreamed  of  finding  some  day  out  in  the  wide  world 
seemed  suddenly  to  unfold  around  her  here  in 
these  empty  rooms.  Was  this  really  to  be  her 
home?  She  stopped  to  take  breath  and  to  look 
around  her. 

Late  that  evening  Peer  sat  at  the  hotel  with  a 
note-book,  working  the  thing  out.  He  had  bought 
Loreng;  his  father-in-law  had  been  reasonable, 
and  had  let  him  have  the  place,  lands  and  woods 
and  all,  for  the  ridiculous  price  he  had  paid  him- 


The  Great  Hunger  167 

self.  There  was  a  mortgage  of  thirty  thousand 
crowns  on  the  estate.  Well,  that  might  stand  as 
it  was,  for  the  bulk  of  Peer's  money  was  tied  up 
in  Ferdinand  Holm's  company. 

A  few  days  after  he  carried  Merle  off  to  the 
capital,  leaving  the  carpenters  and  painters  hard 
at  work  at  Loreng. 

One  day  he  was  sitting  alone  at  the  hotel  in 
Christiania — Merle  was  out  shopping — when  there 
was  a  very  discreet  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  called  Peer.  And  in  walked  a  mid- 
dle-sized man,  of  thirty  or  more,  dressed  in  a 
black  frock-coat  with  a  large-patterned  vest,  and 
his  dark  hair  carefully  combed  over  a  bald  patch 
on  the  crown.  He  had  a  red,  cheery  face;  his 
eyes  were  of  the  brightest  blue,  and  the  whole 
man  breathed  and  shone  with  good  humour. 

"I  am  Uthoug  junior,"  said  the  new-comer, 
with  a  bow  and  a  laugh. 

"Oh— that's  capital." 

"Just  come  across  from  Manchester — beastly 
voyage.  Thanks,  thanks — I'll  find  a  seat."  He 
sat  down,  and  flung  one  striped  trouser-leg  over 
the  other. 

Peer  sent  for  some  wine,  and  in  half  an  hour 
the  two  were  firm  allies.  Uthoug  junior's  life- 
story  to  date  was  quickly  told.  He  had  run  away 
from  home  because  his  father  had  refused  to  let 
him  go  on  the  stage — had  found  on  trial  that  in 
these  days  there  weren't  enough  theatres  to  go 
round — then  had  set  up  in  business  for  himself, 


168  The  Great  Hunger 

and  now  had  a  general  agency  for  the  sale  of 
English  tweeds.  "Freedom,  freedom,"  was  his 
idea;  "lots  of  elbow-room — room  to  turn  about  in 
— without  with  your  leave  or  by  your  leave  to 
father  or  anyone!  Your  health  I" 

A  week  later  the  street  outside  Lorentz  D. 
Uthoug's  house  in  Ringeby  was  densely  crowded 
with  people,  all  gazing  up  at  the  long  rows  of 
lighted  windows.  There  was  feasting  to-night  in 
the  great  man's  house.  About  midnight  a  car- 
riage drove  up  to  the  door.  "That's  the  bride- 
groom 's, ' '  whispered  a  bystander.  ' '  He  got  those 
horses  from  Denmark!'* 

The  street  door  opened,  and  a  white  figure, 
thickly  cloaked,  appeared  on  the  steps.  "The 
bride  I"  whispered  the  crowd.  Then  a  slender  man 
in  a  dark  overcoat  and  silk  hat.  "The  bride- 
groom!" And  as  the  pair  passed  out,  "Hip-hip- 
hip "  went  the  voice  of  the  general  agent  for 

English  tweeds,  and  the  hurrahs  came  with  a  will. 

The  carriage  moved  off,  and  Peer  sat,  with  his 
arm  round  his  bride,  driving  his  horses  at  a  sharp 
trot  out  along  the  fjord.  Out  towards  his  home, 
towards  his  palace,  towards  a  new  and  untried 
future. 


Chapter  V 

A  LITTLE  shaggy,  grey-bearded  old  man  stood 
chopping  and  sawing  in  the  wood-shed  at  Loreng. 
He  had  been  there  longer  than  anyone  could  re- 
member. One  master  left,  another  took  his  place 
— what  was  that  to  the  little  man?  Didn't  the 
one  need  firewood — and  didn't  the  other  need  fire- 
wood just  the  same?  In  the  evening  he  crept  up 
to  his  den  in  the  loft  of  the  servants'  wing;  at 
meal-times  he  sat  himself  down  in  the  last  seat 
at  the  kitchen-table,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
there  was  always  food  to  be  had.  Nowadays  the 
master's  name  was  Holm — an  engineer  he  was — 
and  the  little  man  blinked  at  him  with  his  eyes, 
and  went  on  chopping  in  the  shed.  If  they  came 
and  told  him  he  was  not  wanted  and  must  go — 
why,  thank  heaven,  he  was  stone  deaf,  as  every- 
one knew.  Thud,  thud,  went  his  axe  in  the  shed ; 
and  the  others  about  the  place  were  so  used  to 
it  that  they  heeded  it  no  more  than  the  ticking  of 
a  clock  upon  the  wall. 

In  the  kitchen  of  the  big  house  two  girls  stood 
by  the  window  peeping  out  into  the  garden  and 
giggling. 

"There  he  is  again,"  said  Laura.  "Sh!  don't 
laugh  so  loud.  There!  now  he's  stopping  again  I'1 

160 


170  The  Great  Hunger 

"He's  whistling  to  a  bird,"  said  Oliana.  "Or 
talking  to  himself  perhaps.  Do  you  think  he's 
quite  right  in  his  head?" 

"  Sh !    The  mistress  '11  hear. ' ' 

It  was  no  less  a  person  than  the  master  of  Lo- 
reng  himself  whose  proceedings  struck  them  as  so 
comio. 

Peer  it  was,  wandering  ahout  in  the  great  neg- 
lected garden,  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
knickerbockers  and  his  cap  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  stopping  here  and  there,  and  moving  on 
again  as  the  fancy  took  him.  Sometimes  he  would 
hum  a  snatch  of  a  song,  and  again  fall  to  whis- 
tling ;  here  he  would  pick  up  a  twig  and  look  at  it, 
or  again  it  might  be  a  bird,  or  perhaps  an  old 
neglected  apple-tree  that  seemed  worth  stopping 
to  talk  to.  The  best  of  it  was  that  these  were 
his  own  lands  and  his  own  woods  that  lay  there 
in  the  rusty  October  sunshine.  Was  all  that  noth- 
ing? And  the  hill  over  on  the  farther  shore, 
standing  on  its  head  in  the  dark  lake-mirror, 
clothed  in  a  whole  world  of  colour — yellow  leaves 
and  green  leaves,  and  light  red  and  dark  red,  and 
golden  and  blood-red  patches,  with  the  dark  green 
of  the  pines  between.  His  eyes  had  all  this  to 
rest  on.  Did  he  really  live  here?  What  abun- 
dant fruitfulness  all  around  him!  What  a  sky, 
so  wide,  so  golden  that  it  seemed  to  ring  again. 
The  potato-stalks  lay  uprooted,  scattered  on  the 
fields ;  the  corn  was  safely  housed.  And  here  he 
stood.  He  seemed  again  to  be  drawing  in  nourish- 


The  Great  Hunger  171 

ment  from  all  he  saw,  drinking  it  greedily.  The 
empty  places  in  his  mind  were  filled ;  the  sight  of 
the  rich  soft  landscape  worked  on  his  being,  giv- 
ing it  something  of  its  own  abundant  fruitfulness, 
its  own  wide  repose. 

And — what  next? 

"What  next?"  he  mimicked  in  his  thoughts, 
and  started  again  tramping  up  and  down  the  gar- 
den paths.  What  next — what  next?  Could  he  not 
afford  now  to  take  his  time — to  rest  a  little? 
Every  man  must  have  an  end  in  view — must  strive 
to  reach  this  goal  or  that.  And  what  was  his 
object  now?  What  was  it  he  had  so  toiled  for, 
from  those  hard  years  in  the  loft  above  the  stable 
even  until  now?  What  was  it?  Often  it  seemed 
as  if  everything  were  going  smoothly,  going  of 
itself;  as  if  one  day,  surely,  he  would  find  his 
part  in  a  great,  happy  world-harmony.  But  had 
he  not  already  found  it?  What  more  would  he 
have  ?  Of  course  he  had  found  it. 

But  is  this  all,  then?  What  is  there  behind  and 
beyond?  Hush!  have  done  with  questioning. 
Look  at  the  beauty  around  you.  Here  is  peace, 
peace  and  rest. 

He  hurried  up  to  the  house,  and  in — it  might 
help  matters  if  he  could  take  his  wife  in  his  arms ; 
perhaps  get  her  to  come  out  with  him  a  while. 

Merle  was  in  the  pantry,  with  a  big  apron  on, 
ranging  jars  of  preserves  on  the  shelves. 

"Here,  dearest  little  wife,"  cried  Peer,  throw- 


172  The  Great  Hunger 

ing  his  arms  about  her,  "what  do  yon  say  to  a 
little  run?" 

"Now!  Do  you  suppose  a  housewife  has  noth- 
ing better  to  do  than  gad  about?  Uf!  my  hair! 
you'll  make  it  come  down." 

Peer  took  her  arm  and  led  her  over  to  a  window 
looking  out  on  the  lake.  "There,  dearest!  Isn't 
it  lovely  here?" 

"Peer,  you've  asked  me  that  twenty  times  a 
day  ever  since  we  came." 

' '  Yes,  and  you  never  answer.  And  you  Ve  never 
once  yet  run  and  thrown  your  arms  round  my 
neck  and  said  how  happy  you  were.  And  it's 
never  yet  come  to  pass  that  you've  given  me  a 
single  kiss  of  your  own  accord." 

"I  should  think  not,  when  you  steal  such  a  lot." 
And  she  pushed  him  aside,  and  slipped  under  his 
arm,  and  ran  out  of  the  room.  "I  must  go  in  and 
see  mother  again  to-day,"  she  said  as  she  went. 

"Huit!  Of  course!"  He  paced  up  and  down 
the  room,  his  step  growing  more  and  more  impa- 
tient. "In  to  mother — in  to  mother!  Always 
and  everlastingly  mother  and  mother  and  nothing 
else.  Huit!"  and  he  began  to  whistle. 

Merle  put  her  head  in  at  the  door.  "Peer — 
have  you  such  a  terrible  lot  of  spare  time  ? ' ' 

"Well,  yes  and  no.  I'm  busy  enough  looking 
about  in  every  corner  here  for  something  or  an- 
other. But  I  can't  find  it,  and  I  don't  even  know 
exactly  what  it  is.  Oh  well,  yes— I  have  plenty 
of  time  to  spare." 


The  Great  Hunger  178 

"But  what  about  the  farm!" 

"Well,  there's  the  dairy-woman  in  the  cow- 
house, and  the  groom  in  the  stables,  and  the  bailiff 
to  worry  the  tenants  and  workpeople.  What  am 
I  to  do — poke  around  making  improvements?" 

"But  what  about  the  machine-shop! " 

"Don't  I  go  in  twice  a  day — cycle  over  to  see 
how  things  are  going?  But  with  Eode  for  man- 
ager— that  excellent  and  high-principled  engi- 
neer  " 

"Surely  you  could  help  him  in  some  way?" 

"He's  got  to  go  on  running  along  the  line  of 
rails  he's  used  to — nothing  else  for  it,  my  darling. 
And  four  or  five  thousand  crowns  a  year,  net 
profit — why,  it's  magnificent!" 

"But  couldn't  you  extend  the  business?" 

He  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  his  mouth  pursed 
itself  up. 

"Extend — did  you  say  extend?  Extend  a — a 
doll's  house!" 

"Oh,  Peer,  you  shouldn't  laugh  at  it — a  thing 
that  father  took  so  much  pains  to  set  going!" 

"And  you  shouldn't  go  worrying  me  to  get  to 
work  again  in  earnest,  Merle.  You  shouldn't 
really.  One  of  these  days  I  might  discover  that 
there's  no  way  to  be  happy  in  the  world  but  to 
drag  a  plough  and  look  straight  ahead  and  forget 
that  there's  anything  else  in  existence.  It  may 
come  to  that  one  day — but  give  me  a  little  breath- 
ing-space first,  and  you  love  me.  Well,  good-bye 
for  a  while." 


174  The  Great  Hunger 

Merle,  busying  herself  again  in  her  pantry, 
glanced  out  of  the  window  and  saw  him  disappear 
into  the  stahles.  At  first  she  had  gone  with  him 
when  he  wandered  about  like  this,  touching  and 
feeling  all  his  possessions.  In  the  cattle-stalls, 
it  might  be,  stroking  and  patting,  getting  himself 
covered  with  hairs,  and  chattering  away  in  child- 
ish glee.  "Look,  Merle — this  cow  is  mine,  child! 
Dagros  her  name  is — and  she's  mine.  We  have 
forty  of  them — and  they're  all  mine.  And  that 
nag  there — what  a  sight  he  is!  We  have  eight 
of  them.  They're  mine.  Yours  too,  of  course. 
But  you  don't  care  a  bit  about  it.  You  haven't 
even  hugged  any  of  them  yet.  But  when  a  man's 
been  as  poor  as  I've  been — and  suddenly  wakened 

up  one  day  and  found  he  owned  all  this No, 

wait  a  minute,  Merle — come  and  kiss  old 
Brownie."  She  knew  the  ritual  now — he  could 
go  over  it  all  again  and  again,  and  each  time  with 
the  same  happy  wonder.  Was  it  odious  of  her 
that  she  was  beginning  to  find  it  a  little  comic? 
And  how  did  it  come  about  that  often,  when  she 
might  be  filled  with  the  deepest  longing  for  him, 
and  he  burst  in  upon  her  boisterously,  hungry  for 
her  caresses,  she  would  grow  suddenly  cold,  and 
put  him  aside?  What  was  the  matter?  Why  did 
she  behave  like  this? 

Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  so  much  the 
stronger,  so  overwhelming  in  his  effect  on  her 
that  she  had  to  keep  a  tight  hold  on  herself  to 
avoid  being  swept  clean  away  and  losing  her  iden- 


The  Great  Hunger  175 

tity.  At  one  moment  they  might  be  sitting  in  the 
lamplight,  chatting  easily  together,  and  so  near 
in  heart  and  mind;  and  the  next  it  would  be  over 
— he  would  suddenly  have  started  up  and  be  pac- 
ing up  and  down  the  room,  delivering  a  sort  of 
lecture.  Merle — isn't  it  marvellous,  the  spiritual 
life  of  plants?  And  then  would  come  a  torrent  of 
talk  about  strange  plant-growths  in  the  north  and 
in  the  south,  plants  whose  names  she  had  never 
even  heard — their  struggle  for  existence,  their 
loves  and  longings,  their  heroism  in  disease,  the 
divine  marvel  of  their  death.  Their  inventions, 
their  wisdom,  aye,  their  religious  sense — is  it  not 
marvellous,  Merle?  From  this  it  was  only  a  step 
to  the  earth's  strata,  fossils,  crystals — a  fresh 
lecture.  And  finally  he  would  sum  up  the  whole 
into  one  great  harmony  of  development,  from 
the  primary  cell-life  to  the  laws  of  gravitation 
that  rule  the  courses  of  the  stars.  Was  it  not 
marvellous?  One  common  rhythm  beating  through 
the  universe — a  symphony  of  worlds ! — And  then 
he  must  have  a  kiss ! 

But  she  could  only  draw  back  and  put  him  gen- 
tly aside.  It  was  as  if  he  came  with  all  his  stored- 
up  knowledge — his  lore  of  plants  and  fossils, 
crystals  and  stars — and  poured  it  all  out  in  a 
caress.  She  could  almost  have  cried  out  for  help. 
And  after  hurrying  her  through  the  wonders  of 
the  universe  in  this  fashion,  he  would  suddenly 
catch  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  whirl  her  off  in  a 
passionate  intoxication  of  the  senses  till  she  woke 


176  The  Great  Hunger 

at  last  like  a  castaway  on  an  island,  hardly  know- 
ing where  or  what  she  was.  She  laughed,  but  she 
could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  weep.  Could 
this  be  love?  In  this  strong  man,  whose  life  till 
now  had  been  all  study  and  work,  the  stored-up 
feeling  burst  vehemently  forth,  now  that  it  had 
found  an  outlet.  But  why  did  it  leave  her  so  cold? 

When  Peer  came  in  from  the  stables,  humming 
a  tune,  he  found  her  in  the  sitting-room,  dressed 
in  a  dark  woollen  dress  with  a  red  ribbon  round 
her  throat. 

He  stopped  short:  "By  Jove — how  that  suits 
you,  Merle  I" 

She  let  her  eyes  linger  on  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  came  up  and  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck. 

"Did  he  have  to  go  to  the  stables  all  alone  to- 
day?" 

"Yes;  I've  been  having  a  chat  with  the  young 
colt." 

"Am  I  unkind  to  you,  Peer?" 

"You?— you!" 

"Not  even  if  I  ask  you  to  drive  me  in  to  see 
mother?" 

"Why,  that's  the  very  thing.  The  new  horse  I 
bought  yesterday  from  Captain  Myhre  should  be 
here  any  minute — I'm  just  waiting  for  it." 

"A  new  horse — to  ride?" 

"Yes.  Hang  it — I  must  get  some  riding.  I  had 
to  handle  Arab  horses  for  years.  But  we'll  try 
this  one  in  the  gig  first." 


The  Great  Hunger  177 

Merle  was  still  standing  with  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  now  she  pressed  her  warm  rich  lips 
to  his,  close  and  closer.  It  was  at  such  moments 
that  she  loved  him — when  he  stood  trembling  with 
a  joy  unexpected,  that  took  him  unawares.  She 
too  trembled,  with  a  blissful  thrill  through  soul 
and  body;  for  once  and  at  last  it  was  she  who 
gave. 

"Ah!"  he  breathed  at  last,  pale  with  emotion. 
"I— I'd  be  glad  to  die  like  that." 

A  little  later  they  stood  on  the  balcony  looking 
over  the  courtyard,  when  a  bearded  farm-hand 
came  up  with  a  big  light-maned  chestnut  horse 
prancing  in  a  halter.  The  beast  stood  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  yard,  flung  up  its  head,  and  neighed, 
and  the  horses  in  the  stable  neighed  in  answer. 

"Oh,  what  a  beauty!"  exclaimed  Merle,  clap- 
ping her  hands. 

"Put  him  into  the  gig,"  called  Peer  to  the 
stable-boy  who  had  come  out  to  take  the  horse. 

The  man  touched  his  cap.  "Horse  has  never 
been  driven  before,  sir,  I  was  to  say." 

"Everything  must  have  a  beginning,"  said 
Peer. 

Merle  glanced  at  him.  But  they  were  both 
.dressed  to  go  out  when  the  chestnut  came  dancing 
up  before  the  door  with  the  gig.  The  white  hoofs 
pawed  impatiently,  the  head  was  high  in  the  air, 
and  the  eyes  flashed  fire — he  wasn't  used  to  hav- 
ing shafts  pressing  on  his  sides  and  wheels  rum- 
bling just  behind  him.  Peer  lit  a  cigar. 


178  The  Great  Hunger 

"You're  not  going  to  smoke?"  Merle  burst  out. 

"Just  to  show  him  I'm  not  excited,"  said  Peer. 

No  sooner  had  they  taken  their  seats  in  the  gig 
than  the  beast  began  to  snort  and  rear,  but  the 
long  lash  flicked  out  over  its  neck,  and  a  minute 
later  they  were  tearing  off  in  a  cloud  of  dust  to- 
wards the  town. 

Winter  came — and  a  real  winter  it  was.  Peer 
moved  about  from  one  window  to  another,  calling 
all  the  time  to  Merle  to  come  and  look.  He  had 
been  away  so  long — the  winter  of  Eastern  Norway 
was  all  new  to  him.  Look — look!  A  world  of 
white — a  frozen  white  tranquillity — woods,  plains, 
lakes  all  in  white,  a  fairy-tale  in  sunlight,  a  dream- 
land at  night  under  the  great  bright  moon.  There 
was  a  ringing  of  sleigh-bells  out  on  the  lake,  and 
up  in  the  snow-powdered  forest;  the  frost  stood 
thick  on  the  horses'  manes  and  the  men's  beards 
were  hung  with  icicles.  And  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  loud  reports  of  splitting  ice  would  come  from 
the  lake — sounds  to  make  one  sit  up  in  bed  with  a 
start. 

Driving's  worth  while  in  weather  like  this — 
come,  Merle.  The  new  stallion  from  Gudbrandsdal 
wants  breaking  in — we'll  take  him.  Hallo!  and 
away  they  go  in  their  furs,  swinging  out  over  the 
frozen  lake,  whirling  on  to  the  bare  glassy  ice, 
where  they  skid  and  come  near  capsizing,  and 
Merle  screams — but  they  get  on  to  snow,  and  hoofs 
and  runners  grip  again.  None  of  your  galloping 


The  Great  Hunger  179 

— trot  now,  trot !  And  Peer  cracks  his  whip.  The 
black,  long-maned  Gudbrandsdaler  lifts  his  head 
and  trots  out.  And  the  evening  comes,  and  under 
the  wide  and  starry  sky  they  dash  up  again  to 
Loreng — Loreng  that  lies  there  lighting  them 
home  with  its  long  rows  of  glowing  windows.  A 
glorious  day,  wife! 

Or  they  would  go  out  on  ski  over  the  hills  to 
the  woodmen's  huts  in  the  forest,  and  make  a 
blazing  fire  in  the  big  chimney  and  drink  steaming 
coffee.  Then  home  again  through  one  of  those 
pale  winter  evenings  with  a  violet  twilight  over 
woods  and  fields  and  lake,  over  white  snow  and 
blue.  Far  away  on  the  brown  hillside  in  the  west 
stands  a  farmhouse,  with  all  its  windows  flaming 
with  the  reflection  from  a  golden  cloud.  Here 
they  come  rushing,  the  wind  of  their  passing  shak- 
ing the  snow  from  the  pines;  on,  on,  over  deep- 
rutted  woodcutters'  roads,  over  stumps  and  stones 
— falling,  bruising  themselves,  burying  their  faces 
deep  in  the  snow,  but  dragging  themselves  up 
again,  smiling  to  each  other  and  rushing  on  again. 
Then,  reaching  home  red  and  dripping,  they  lean 
the  ski  up  against  the  wall,  and  stamp  the  snow 
off  their  boots. 

"Merle,"  said  Peer,  picMng  the  ice  from  his 
beard,  "we  must  have  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  at 
dinner  to-night." 

"Yes — and  shall  we  ring  up  and  ask  someone 
to  come  over?" 


180  The  Great  Hunger 

"Someone — from  outside!  Can't  we  two  have 
a  little  jollification  all  to  ourselves?*' 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,  if  you  like." 

A  shower-bath — a  change  of  underclothes — how 
delicious !  And — an  idea !  He'll  appear  at  dinner 
in  evening  dress,  just  for  a  surprise.  But  as  he 
entered  the  room  he  stopped  short.  For  there 
stood  Merle  herself  in  evening  dress — a  dress  of 
dark  red  velvet,  with  his  locket  round  her  neck  and 
the  big  plaits  of  hair  rolled  into  a  generous  knot 
low  on  her  neck.  Flowers  on  the  table — the  wine 
set  to  warm — the  finest  glass,  the  best  silver — 
ptarmigan — how  splendid !  They  lift  their  glasses 
filled  with  the  red  wine  and  drink  to  each  other. 

The  frozen  winter  landscape  still  lingered  in 
their  thoughts,  but  the  sun  had  warmed  their 
souls;  they  laughed  and  jested,  held  each  other's 
hands  long,  and  sat  smiling  at  each  other  in  long 
silences. 

"A  glorious  day  to-day,  Merle.  And  to-morrow 
we  die." 

"What  do  you  say! — to-morrow!" 

"Or  fifty  years  hence.  It  comes  to  the  same 
thing."  He  pressed  her  hand  and  his  eyes  half 
closed. 

"But  this  evening  we're  together — and  what 
could  we  want  more?" 

Then  he  fell  to  talking  of  his  Egyptian  experi- 
ences. He  had  once  spent  a  month's  holiday  in 
visiting  ruined  cities  with  Maspero,  the  great  Mas- 
pero  himself,  going  with  him  to  Luxor,  to  Karnak, 


The  Great  Hunger  181 

with,  its  great  avenues  of  sphinxes,  to  El  Amarna 
and  Shubra.  They  had  looked  on  ancient  cities  of 
temples  and  king's  mausoleums,  where  men  thou- 
sands of  years  dead  lay  as  if  lost  in  thought,  with 
eyes  wide  open,  ready  at  any  moment  to  rise  and 
call  out:  Slave,  is  the  bath  ready?  There  in  the 
middle  of  a  cornfield  rises  an  obelisk.  You  ask 
what  it  is — it  is  all  that  is  left  of  a  royal  city. 
There,  too,  a  hundred  thousand  years  ago  maybe, 
young  couples  have  sat  together,  drinking  to  each 
other  in  wine,  revelling  in  all  the  delights  of  love 
— and  where  are  they  now!  Aye,  where  are  they, 
can  you  tell  me  ? 

"When  that  journey  was  over,  Merle,  I  began 
to  think  that  it  was  not  mere  slime  of  the  Nile 
that  fertilised  the  fields;  it  was  the  mouldered 
bodies  of  the  dead.  I  rode  over  dust  that  had 
been  human  fingers,  lips  that  had  clung  in  kisses. 
Millions  and  millions  of  men  and  women  have 
lived  on  those  river-banks,  and  what  has  become 
of  them  now!  Geology.  And  I  thought  of  the 
millions  of  prayers  wailed  out  there  to  the  sun 
and  stars,  to  stone  idols  in  the  temples,  to  croco- 
diles and  snakes  and  the  river  itself,  the  sacred 
river.  And  the  air,  Merle — the  air  received  them, 
and  vibrated  for  a  second — and  that  was  all.  And 
even  so  our  prayers  go  up,  to  this  very  day.  We 
press  our  warm  lips  to  a  cold  stone,  and  think  to 
leave  an  impression.  Skoal!" 

But  Merle  did  not  touch  her  glass ;  she  sat  stiD, 
with  her  eyes  on  the  yellow  lampshade.  She  had 


182  The  Great  Hunger 

not  yet  given  up  all  her  dreams  of  going  forth  and 
conquering  the  world  with  her  music — and  he  sat 
there  rolling  out  eternity  itself  before  her,  while 
he  and  she  herself,  her  parents,  all,  all  became  as 
chaff  blown  before  the  wind  and  vanished. 

' '  What,  won 't  you  drink  with  me  ?  Well,  well — 
then  I  must  pledge  you  by  myself.  Skaall" 

And  being  well  started  on  his  travellers'  tales 
he  went  on  with  them,  but  now  in  a  more  cheer- 
ful vein,  so  that  she  found  it  possible  to  smile. 
He  told  of  the  great  lake-swamps,  with  their 
legions  of  birds,  ibis,  pelicans,  swans,  flamingos, 
herons,  and  storks — a  world  of  long  beaks  and 
curved  breasts  and  stilt-like  legs  and  shrieking  and 
beating  of  wings.  Most  wonderful  of  all  it  was  to 
stand  and  watch  and  be  left  behind  when  the  birds 
of  passage  flew  northward  in  their  thousands  in 
the  spring.  My  love  to  Norway,  he  would  say, 
as  they  passed.  And  in  the  autumn  to  see  them 
return,  grey  goose,  starling,  wagtail,  and  all  the 
rest.  ' '  How  goes  it  now  at  home  !  "  he  would  think 
— and  " Next  time  I'll  go  with  you,"  he  would 
promise  himself  year  after  year. 

* '  And  here  I  am  at  last !   Skoal  I ' ' 

"Welcome  home,"  said  Merle,  lifting  her  glass 
with  a  smile. 

He  rang  the  bell.  "What  do  yon  want!"  her 
eyes  asked. 

"Champagne,"  said  Peer  to  the  maid,  who  aj> 
peared  and  vanished  again. 

"Are  you  crazy,  ReerJ M 


The  Great  Hunger  183 

He  leaned  back,  flushed  and  in  happy  mood, 
lit  a  cigarette  and  told  of  his  greatest  triumph  out 
there ;  it  was  after  he  had  finished  his  work  at  the 
cataracts,  and  had  started  again  with  a  branch  of 
the  English  firm  in  Alexandria.  One  morning  in 
walked  the  Chief  and  said:  "Now,  gentlemen, 
here's  a  chance  for  a  man  that  has  the  stuff  in  him 
to  win  his  spurs — who's  ready?'*  And  half  a 
score  of  voices  answered  "I."  "Well,  here's  the 
King  of  Abyssinia  suddenly  finds  he  must  be  in 
the  fashion  and  have  a  railway — couple  of  hun- 
dred miles  of  it — what  do  you  say  to  that?" 
* '  Splendid, ' '  we  cried  in  chorus.  * l  "Well,  but  we  've 
got  to  compete  with  Germans,  and  Swiss,  and 
Americans — and  we  've  got  to  win. "  "Of  course ' ' 
— a  louder  chorus  still.  "Now,  I'm  going  to  take 
two  men  and  give  them  a  free  hand.  They'll  go 
up  there  and  survey  and  lay  out  lines,  and  work 
out  the  whole  project  thoroughly,  both  from  the 
technical  and  the  financial  side — and  a  project 
that's  better  and  cheaper  than  the  opposition  ones. 
Eight  months'  work  for  a  good  man,  but  I  must 
have  it  done  in  four.  Take  along  assistants  and 
equipment — all  you  need — and  a  thousand  pounds 
premium  to  the  man  who  puts  it  through  so  that 
we  get  the  job." 

"Peer — were  you  sent?"  Merle  half  rose  from 
her  seat  in  her  excitement. 

"I — and  one  other." 

"Who  was  that?" 

"His  name  was  Ferdinand  Holm." 


184  The  Great  Hunger 

Merle  smiled  her  one-sided  smile,  and  looked  at 
him  through  her  long  lashes.  She  knew  it  had 
been  the  dream  of  his  life  to  beat  that  half-brother 
of  his  in  fair  fight.  And  now! 

"And  what  came  of  it!"  she  asked,  with  a  seem- 
ing careless  glance  at  the  lamp. 

Peer  flung  away  his  cigarette.  "First  an  ex- 
pedition up  the  Nile,  then  a  caravan  journey, 
camels  and  mules  and  assistants  and  provisions 
and  instruments  and  tents  and  quinine — heaps  of 
quinine.  Have  you  any  idea,  I  wonder,  what  a  job 
like  that  means?  The  line  was  to  run  through 
forests  and  tunnels,  over  swamps  and  torrents  and 
chasms,  and  everything  had  to  be  planned  and 
estimated  at  top  speed — material,  labour,  time, 
cost  and  all.  It  was  all  very  well  to  provide  for 
the  proper  spans  and  girders  for  a  viaduct,  and 
estimate  for  thoroughly  sound  work  in  casting  and 
erecting — but  even  then  it  would  be  no  good  if  the 
Germans  could  come  along  and  say  their  bridge 
looked  handsomer  than  ours.  It  was  a  job  that 
would  take  a  good  man  eight  months,  and  I  had 
to  get  it  done  in  four.  There  are  just  twelve  hours 
in  a  day,  it's  true — but  then  there  are  twelve  more 
hours  in  the  night.  Fever?  Well,  yes.  And  sun- 
stroke— yes,  both  men  and  beasts  went  down  with 
that.  Maps  got  washed  out  by  the  rain.  I  lost 
my  best  assistant  by  snakebite.  But  such  things 
didn't  count  as  hindrances,  they  couldn't  be  al- 
lowed to  delay  the  work.  If  I  lost  a  man,  it  sim- 
ply meant  so  much  more  work  for  me.  After  a 


The  Great  Hunger  185 

couple  of  months  a  blacksmith's  hammer  started 
thumping  in  the  back  of  my  head,  and  when  I 
closed  my  eyes  for  a  couple  of  hours  at  night,  little 
fiery  snakes  went  wriggling  about  in  my  brain. 
Tired  out?  When  I  looked  in  the  glass,  my  eyes 
were  just  two  red  balls  in  my  head.  But  when  the 
four  months  were  up,  I  was  back  in  the  Chief's 
office." 

"And — and  Ferdinand  Holm!" 

"Had  got  in  the  day  before." 

Merle  shifted  a  little  in  her  seat.  "And  so — he 
won?" 

Peer  lit  another  cigarette.  "No,"  he  said — the 
cigarette  seemed  to  draw  rather  badly — "I  won. 
And  that's  how  I  came  to  be  building  railways  in 
Abyssinia." 

"Here's  the  champagne,"  said  Merle.  And  as 
the  wine  foamed  in  the  glasses,  she  rose  and  drank 
to  him.  She  said  nothing,  only  looked  at  him  with 
eyes  half  veiled,  and  smiled.  But  a  wave  of  fire 
went  through  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"I  feel  like  playing  to-night,"  she  said. 

It  was  rarely  that  she  played,  though  he  had 
often  begged  her  to.  Since  they  had  been  married 
she  had  seemed  loth  to  touch  her  violin,  feeling 
perhaps  some  vague  fear  that  it  would  disturb  her 
peace  and  awaken  old  longings. 

Peer  sat  on  the  sofa,  leaning  forward  with  his 
head  in  his  hands,  listening.  And  there  she  stood, 
at  the  music-stand,  in  her  red  dress,  flushed  and 


186  The  Great  Hunger 

warm,  and  shining  in  the  yellow  lamplight,  play- 
ing. 

Then  suddenly  the  thought  of  her  mother  came 
to  her,  and  she  went  to  the  telephone.  "Mother — 
are  yon  there,  mother?  Oh,  we've  had  such  a 
glorious  day. ' '  And  the  girl  ran  on,  as  if  trying  to 
light  up  her  mother's  heart  with  some  rays  of  the 
happiness  her  own  happy  day  had  brought  her. 

A  little  later  Peer  lay  in  bed,  while  Merle  flitted 
about  the  room,  lingering  over  her  toilet. 

He  watched  her  as  she  stood  in  her  long  white 
gown  before  the  toilet-table  with  the  little  green- 
shaded  lamps,  doing  her  hair  for  the  night  in  a 
long  plait.  Neither  of  them  spoke.  He  could  see 
her  face  in  the  glass,  and  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
watching  him,  with  a  soft,  mysterious  glance — the 
scent  of  her  hair  seemed  to  fill  the  place  with 
youth. 

She  turned  round  towards  him  and  smiled.  And 
he  lay  still,  beckoning  her  towards  him  with  shin- 
ing eyes.  All  that  had  passed  that  evening — their 
outing,  and  the  homeward  journey  in  the  violet 
dusk,  their  little  feast,  and  his  story,  the  wine — 
all  had  turned  to  love  in  their  hearts,  and  shone 
out  now  in  their  smile. 

It  may  be  that  some  touch  of  the  cold  breath  of 
the  eternities  was  still  in  their  minds,  the  remem- 
brance of  the  millions  on  millions  that  die,  the 
flight  of  the  9Bons  towards  endless  darkness;  yet 
in  spite  of  all,  the  minutes  now  to  come,  their  warm 
embrace,  held  a  whole  world  of  bliss,  that  out- 


The  Great  Hunger  187 

weighed  all,  and  made  Peer,  as  he  lay  there,  long 
to  send  out  a  hymn  of  praise  into  the  universe,  be- 
cause it  was  so  wonderful  to  live. 

He  began  to  understand  why  she  lingered  and 
took  so  long.  It  was  a  sign  that  she  wanted  to 
surprise  him,  that  her  heart  was  kind.  And  her 
light  breathing  seemed  even  now  to  fill  the  room 
with  love. 

Outside  in  the  night  the  lake-ice,  splitting  into 
new  crevices,  sent  up  loud  reports ;  and  the  winter 
sky  above  the  roof  that  sheltered  them  was  lit  with 
all  its  stars. 


Chapter  VI 

FOB  the  next  few  years  Peer  managed  his  estate 
and  his  workshop,  without  giving  too  much  of  his 
time  to  either.  He  had  his  bailiff  and  his  works- 
manager,  and  the  work  went  on  well  enough  in  its 
accustomed  grooves.  If  anyone  had  asked  him 
what  he  actually  did  himself  all  the  time,  he  would 
have  found  it  hard  to  answer.  He  seemed  to  be 
going  round  gathering  up  something  not  clearly 
defined.  There  was  something  wanting — some- 
thing missed  that  now  had  to  be  made  good.  It 
was  not  knowledge  now,  but  life — life  in  his  na- 
tive land,  the  life  of  youth,  that  he  reached  out  to 
grasp.  The  youth  in  him,  that  had  never  had  free 
play  in  the  years  of  early  manhood,  lay  still 
dammed  up,  and  had  to  find  an  outlet. 

There  were  festive  gatherings  at  Loreng.  Long 
rows  of  sleighs  drove  in  the  winter  evenings  up 
from  the  town  and  back  again.  Tables  were  spread 
and  decked  with  glass  and  flowers,  the  rooms  were 
brightly  lit,  and  the  wine  was  good.  And  some- 
times in  the  long  moonlit  nights  respectable  citi- 
zens would  be  awakened  by  noisy  mirth  in  the 
streets  of  the  little  town,  and,  going  to  the  window 
in  their  night-shirts,  would  see  sleighs  come  gal- 
loping down,  with  a  jangle  of  bells,  full  of  laugh- 

188 


The  Great  Hunger  189 

ing,  singing  young  people,  returning  from  some 
excursion  far  up  in  the  hills,  where  there  had  been 
feasting  and  dancing.  Here  a  young  lawyer — 
newly  married  and  something  of  a  privileged  buf- 
foon— was  sitting  on  the  lap  of  somebody  else's 
wife,  playing  a  concertina,  and  singing  at  the  top 
of  his  voice.  "Some  of  that  Loreng  man's  doings 
again, ' '  people  would  say.  ' '  The  place  has  never 
been  the  same  since  he  came  here."  And  they 
would  get  back  to  bed  again,  shaking  their  heads 
and  wondering  what  things  were  coming  to. 

Peer  drove  out,  too,  on  occasion,  to  parties  at 
the  big  country  houses  round,  where  they  would 
play  cards  all  night  and  have  champagne  sent  up 
to  their  rooms  next  morning,  the  hosts  being  men 
who  knew  how  to  do  things  in  style.  This  was 
glorious.  Not  mathematics  or  religion  any  more 
— what  he  needed  now  was  to  assimilate  something 
of  the  country  life  of  his  native  land.  He  was 
not  going  to  be  a  stranger  in  his  own  country. 
He  wanted  to  take  firm  root  and  be  able  to  feel, 
like  others,  that  he  had  a  spot  in  the  world  where 
he  was  at  home. 

Then  came  the  sunny  day  in  June  when  he  stood 
by  Merle's  bed,  and  she  lay  there  smiling  faintly 
her  one-sided  smile,  with  a  newborn  girl  on  her 
arm. 

"What  are  we  to  call  her,  Peer! " 

"Why,  we  settled  that  long  ago.  After  your 
mother,  of  course." 

"Of  course  her  name's  to  be  Louise,"  said 


190  The  Great  Hunger 

Merle,  turning  the  tiny  red  face  towards  her 
breast. 

This  came  as  a  fresh  surprise.  She  had  been 
planning  it  for  weeks  perhaps,  and  now  it  took 
him  unawares  like  one  of  her  spontaneous  caresses, 
but  this  time  a  caress  to  his  inmost  soul. 

He  made  a  faint  attempt  at  a  joke.  "Oh  well, 
I  never  have  any  say  in  my  own  house.  I  suppose 
you  must  have  it  your  own  way."  He  stroked 
her  forehead ;  and  when  she  saw  how  deeply  moved 
he  was,  she  smiled  up  at  him  with  her  most  radiant 
smile. 

On  one  of  the  first  days  of  the  hay-harvest, 
Peer  lay  out  on  a  sunny  hillside  with  his  head 
resting  on  a  haycock,  watching  his  people  at  work. 
The  mowing  machine  was  buzzing  down  by  the 
lake,  the  spreader  at  work  on  the  hill-slopes,  the 
horses  straining  in  front,  the  men  sitting  behind 
driving.  The  whole  landscape  lay  around  him 
breathing  summer  and  fruitfulness.  And  he  him- 
self lay  there  sunk  in  his  own  restful  quiet. 

A  woman  in  a  light  dress  and  a  yellow  straw 
hat  came  down  the  field  road,  pushing  a  child's 
cart  before  her.  It  was  Merle,  and  Merle  was 
looking  round  her,  and  humming  as  she  came. 
Since  the  birth  of  her  child  her  mind  was  at  peace ; 
it  was  clear  that  she  was  scarcely  dreaming  now 
of  conquering  the  world  with  her  music — there 
was  a  tiny  being  in  the  little  cart  that  claimed  all 
her  dreams.  Never  before  had  her  skin  been  so 
iazzling,  her  smile  so  red ;  it  was  as  if  her  youth 


The  Great  Hunger  191 

now  first  blossomed  out  in  all  its  fullness;  her 
eyes  seemed  opened  wide  in  a  dear  surprise. 

After  a  while  Peer  went  down  and  drove  the 
mowing  machine  himself.  He  felt  as  if  he  must 
get  to  work  somehow  or  other  to  provide  for  his 
wife  and  child. 

But  suddenly  he  stopped,  got  down,  and  began 
to  walk  round  the  machine  and  examine  it  closely. 
His  face  was  all  alert  now,  his  eyes  keen  and 
piercing.  He  stared  at  the  mechanism  of  the 
blades,  and  stood  awhile  thinking. 

What  was  this  1  A  happy  idea  was  beginning  to 
work  in  his  mind.  Vague  only  as  yet — there  was 
still  time  to  thrust  it  aside.  Should  he? 

Warm  mild  days  and  luminous  nights.  Some« 
times  he  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  how  delicious 
it  was  to  lie  awake  and  see  the  sun  come  up. 

On  one  such  night  he  got  up  and  dressed.  A 
few  minutes  later  there  was  a  trampling  of  hoofs 
in  the  stable-yard  and  the  chestnut  stallion  ap- 
peared, with  Peer  leading  him.  He  swung  himself 
into  the  saddle,  and  trotted  off  down  the  road,  a 
white  figure  in  his  drill  suit  and  cork  helmet. 

Where  was  he  going?  Nowhere.  It  was  a 
change,  to  be  up  at  an  unusual  hour  and  see  the 
day  break  on  a  July  morning. 

He  trotted  along  at  an  easy  pace,  rising  lightly 
in  the  stirrups,  and  enjoying  the  pleasant  warmth 
the  rider  feels.  All  was  quiet  around  him,  the 
homesteads  still  asleep.  The  sky  was  a  pearly 


192  The  Great  Hunger 

white,  with  here  and  there  a  few  golden  clouds, 
reflected  in  the  lake  below.  And  the  broad 
meadows  still  spread  their  many-coloured  flower- 
carpet  abroad ;  there  was  a  scent  in  the  air  of  leaf 
and  meadow-grass  and  pine,  he  drew  in  deep 
breaths  of  it  and  could  have  sung  aloud. 

He  turned  into  the  by-road  up  the  hill,  dismount- 
ing now  and  again  to  open  a  gate ;  past  farms  and 
little  cottages,  ever  higher  and  higher,  till  at  last 
he  reached  the  topmost  ridge,  and  halted  in  a  clear- 
ing. The  chestnut  threw  up  his  head  and  sniffed 
the  air;  horse  and  rider  were  wet  with  the  dew- 
drip  from  the  trees,  that  were  now  just  flushing 
in  the  first  glow  of  the  coming  sun.  Far  below 
was  the  lake,  reflecting  sky  and  hills  and  farm- 
steads, all  asleep.  And  there  in  the  east  were  the 
red  flames — the  sun— the  day. 

The  horse  pawed  impatiently  at  the  ground, 
eager  to  go  on,  but  Peer  held  him  back.  He  sat 
there  gazing  under  the  brim  of  his  helmet  at  the 
sunrise,  and  felt  a  wave  of  strange  feeling  passing 
through  his  mind. 

It  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  he  should  ever 
reach  a  higher  pitch  of  sheer  delight  in  life.  He 
was  still  young  and  strong;  all  the  organs  of  his' 
body  worked  together  in  happy  harmony.  No 
cares  to  weigh  upon  his  mind,  no  crushing  re- 
sponsibilities; the  future  lying  calm  and  clear  in 
the  light  of  day,  free  from  dizzy  dreams.  His 
hunger  after  knowledge  was  appeased;  he  felt 
that  what  he  had  learned  and  seen  and  gathered 


The  Great  Hunger  193 

was  beginning  to  take  living  organic  form  in  hia 
mind. 

But  then — what  then! 

The  great  human  type  of  which  you  dreamed — 
have  you  succeeded  in  giving  it  life  in  yourself? 

You  know  what  is  common  knowledge  about  the 
progress  of  humanity ;  its  struggle  towards  higher 
forms,  its  gropings  up  by  many  ways  toward  the 
infinite  which  it  calls  God. 

You  know  something  of  the  life  of  plants;  the 
nest  of  a  bird  is  a  mystery  before  which  you 
could  kneel  in  worship.  A  rock  shows  you  the 
marks  of  a  glacier  that  scraped  over  it  thousands 
of  years  ago,  and  looking  on  it  you  have  a  glimpse 
of  the  gigantic  workings  of  the  solar  system.  And 
on  autumn  evenings  you  look  up  at  the  stars,  and 
the  light  and  the  death  and  the  dizzy  abysses  of 
space  above  yon  send  a  solemn  thrill  through 
your  soul. 

And  this  has  become  a  part  of  yourself.  The 
joy  of  life  for  you  is  to  grasp  all  you  can  compass 
of  the  universe,  and  let  it  permeate  your  thought 
and  sense  on  every  side. 

But  what  then?  Is  this  enough?  Is  it  enough 
to  rest  thus  in  yourself? 

Have  you  as  yet  raised  one  stepping-stone  upon 
which  other  men  can  climb  and  say:  Now  we 
can  see  farther  than  before? 

What  is  your  inner  being  worth,  unless  it  be 
mirrored  in  action? 

If  the  world  one  day  came  to  be  peopled  with 


194  The  Great  Hunger 

none  but  supermen — what  profit  in  that,  as  long 
as  they  must  die? 

"What  is  your  faith! 

Ah,  this  sense  of  exile,  of  religious  homeless- 
ness  !  How  many  times  have  you  and  Merle  lain 
clasping  each  other's  hands,  your  thoughts  wan- 
dering together  hand  in  hand,  seeking  over  earth 
or  among  the  stars  for  some  being  to  whom  you 
might  send  up  a  prayer;  no  slavish  begging  cry 
for  grace  and  favour,  but  a  jubilant  thanksgiving 
for  the  gift  of  life. 

But  where  was  He? 

He  is  not.    And  yet — He  is. 

But  the  ascetic  on  the  cross  is  a  God  for  the 
sick  and  aged.  What  of  us  others?  When  shall 
the  modern  man,  strong,  scientifically  schooled, 
find  a  temple  for  the  sacred  music,  the  anthem  of 
eternity  in  his  soul? 

The  sun  rose  up  from  behind  a  distant  hill- 
crest,  scattering  gold  over  the  million  spires  of  the 
pine-forest.  Peer  bent  forward,  with  red-gleam- 
ing dewdrops  on  his  hand  and  his  white  sleeve,  and 
patted  the  neck  of  his  restless  beast. 

It  was  two  o'clock.  The  fires  of  morning  were 
lit  in  the  clouds  and  in  all  the  waters  over  the 
earth.  The  dew  in  the  meadows  and  the  pearls  on 
the  wings  of  butterflies  began  to  glisten. 

"Now  then,  Bijou! — now  for  home!" 

And  he  dashed  off  down  the  grass-grown  forest 
paths,  the  chestnut  snorting  as  he  galloped. 


Chapter  VII 

i,  Merle;  We're  going  to  have  distinguished 
visitors — where  in  the  world  have  you  got  to!" 
Peer  hurried  through  the  rooms  with  an  open  tele- 
gram in  his  hand,  and  at  last  came  upon  his  wife 
in  the  nursery.  ' '  Oh,  is  it  here  you  are  f ' ' 

"Yes — but  you  shout  so,  I  could  hear  you  all 
through  the  house.  Who  is  it  that's  coming?" 

"Ferdinand  Holm  and  Klaus  Brock.  Coming 
to  the  christening  after  all.  Great  CaBsar! — what 
do  you  say  to  that,  Merle?" 

Merle  was  pale,  and  her  cheeks  a  little  sunken. 
Two  years  more  had  passed,  and  she  had  her  sec- 
ond child  now  on  her  knee — a  little  boy  with  big 
wondering  eyes. 

"How  fine  for  you,  Peer!"  she  said,  and  went 
on  undressing  the  child. 

"Yes;  but  isn't  it  splendid  of  them  to  set  off 
and  come  all  that  way,  just  because  I  asked  them? 
By  Jove,  we  must  look  sharp  and  get  the  place 
smartened  up  a  bit." 

And  sure  enough  the  whole  place  was  soon 
turned  upside-down — cartloads  of  sand  coming  in 
for  the  garden  walks  and  the  courtyard,  and  paint- 
ers hard  at  work  repainting  the  houses.  And  poor 
..Merle  knew, very  well  that  there  would  J>e  serious 

195 


196  The  Great  Hunger 

trouble  if  anything  should  be  amiss  with  the  en- 
tertainment indoors. 

At  last  came  the  hot  August  day  when  the  flags 
were  hoisted  in  honour  of  the  expected  guests. 
Once  more  the  hum  of  mowing  machines  and  hay- 
rakes  came  from  the  hill-slopes,  and  the  air  was 
so  still  that  the  columns  of  smoke  from  the  chim- 
neys of  the  town  rose  straight  into  the  air.  Peer 
had  risen  early,  to  have  a  last  look  round,  inspect- 
ing everything  critically,  from  the  summer  dress 
Merle  was  to  wear  down  to  the  horses  in  the  stable, 
groomed  till  their  coats  shone  again.  Merle  under- 
stood. He  had  been  a  fisher-boy  beside  the  well- 
dressed  son  of  the  doctor,  and  something  meaner 
yet  in  relation  to  the  distinguished  Holm  family. 
And  there  was  still  so  much  of  the  boy  in  him  that 
he  wanted  to  show  now  at  his  very  best. 

A  crowd  of  inquisitive  idlers  had  gathered  down 
on  the  steamboat  landing  when  the  boat  swung  in 
and  lay  by  the  pier.  The  pair  of  bays  in  the 
Loreng  carriage  stood  tossing  their  heads  and 
twitching  and  stamping  as  the  flies  tormented 
them;  but  at  last  they  got  their  passengers  and 
were  given  their  heads,  setting  off  with  a  wild 
bound  or  two  that  scattered  those  who  had  pressed 
too  near.  But  in  the  carriage  they  could  see  the 
two  strangers  and  the  engineer,  all  three  laugh- 
ing and  gesticulating,  and  talking  all  at  once.  And 
in  a  few  moments  they  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
whirling  away  beside  the  calm  waters  of  the  fjord. 

Some  way  behind  them  a  cart  followed,  driven 


The  Great  Hunger  197 

by  one  of  the  stable-boys  from  Loreng,  and  loaded 
with  big  brass-bound  leather  trunks  and  a  huge 
chest,  apparently  of  wood,  but  evidently  contain- 
ing something  frightfully  heavy. 

Merle  had  finished  dressing,  and  stood  looking 
at  herself  in  the  glass.  The  light  summer  dress 
was  pretty,  she  thought,  and  the  red  bows  at  neck 
and  waist  sat  to  her  satisfaction.  Then  came  the 
roll  of  wheels  outside,  and  she  went  out  to  receive 
her  guests. 

"Here  they  are,"  cried  Peer,  jumping  down. 
"This  is  Ferdinand  Pasha,  Governor-General  of 
the  new  Kingdom  of  Sahara — and  this  is  His 
Highness  the  Khedive 's  chief  pipe-cleaner  and 
body-eunuch." 

A  tall,  stooping  man  with  white  hair  and  a 
clean-shaven,  dried-up  face  advanced  towards 
Merle.  It  was  Ferdinand  Holm.  "How  do  you 
do,  Madam  ? "  he  said,  giving  her  a  dry,  bony  hand. 

"Why,  this  is  quite  a  baronial  seat  you  have 
here,"  he  added,  looking  round  and  settling  his 
pince-nez. 

His  companion  was  a  round,  plump  gentleman, 
with  a  little  black  goatee  beard  and  dark  eyes  that 
blinked  continually.  But  his  smile  was  full  of 
mirth,  and  the  grip  of  his  hand  felt  true.  So  this 
was  Klaus  Brock. 

Peer  led  his  two  friends  in  through  the  rooms, 
showing  them  the  view  from  the  various  windows. 
Klaus  broke  into  a  laugh  at  last,  and  turned  to 
Merle:  "He's  just  the  same  as  ever,"  he  said — 


198  The  Great  Hunger 

"a  little  stouter,  to  be  sure — it's  clear  you've  been 
treating  him  well,  madam."  And  he  bowed  and 
kissed  her  hand. 

There  was  hock  and  seltzer  ready  for  them — 
this  was  Merle's  idea,  as  suitable  for  a  hot  day — 
and  when  the  two  visitors  had  each  drunk  off  a 
couple  of  glasses,  with  an:  "Ah!  delicious!",  Peer 
came  behind  her,  stroked  her  hand  lightly  and 
whispered,  "Thanks,  Merle — first-rate  idea  of 
yours." 

"By  the  way,"  exclaimed  Ferdinand  Holm  sud- 
denly, "I  must  send  off  a  telegram.  May  I  use 
the  telephone  a  moment  1 ' ' 

"There  he  goes — can't  contain  himself  any 
longer!"  burst  out  Klaus  Brock  with  a  laugh. 
"He's  had  the  telegraph  wires  going  hard  all  the 
way  across  Europe — but  you  might  let  us  get  in- 
side and  sit  down  before  you  begin  again  here." 

"Come  along,"  said  Peer.  "Here's  the  tele- 
phone." 

When  the  two  had  left  the  room,  Klaus  turned 
to  Merle  with  a  smile.  "Well,  well — so  I'm  really 
in  the  presence  of  Peer's  wife — his  wife  in  flesh 
and  blood.  And  this  is  what  she  looks  like !  That 
fellow  always  had  all  the  luck. ' '  And  he  took  her 
hand  again  and  kissed  it.  Merle  drew  it  away  and 
blushed. 

"You  are  not  married,  then,  Mr.  Brock?" 

"I?  Well,  yes  and  no.  I  did  marry  a  Greek 
girl  once,  but  she  ran  away.  Just  my  luck."  And 


The  Great  Hunger  199 

he  blinked  his  eyes  and  sighed  with  an  expression 
so  comically  sad  that  Merle  burst  out  laughing. 

"And  your  friend,  Ferdinand  Holm?"  she 
asked. 

"He,  dear  lady — he — why,  saving  your  pres- 
ence, I  have  an  idea  there's  a  select  little  harem 
attached  to  that  palace  of  his." 

Merle  turned  towards  the  window  and  shook  her 
head  with  a  smile. 

An  hour  later  the  visitors  came  down  from  their 
rooms  after  a  wash  and  a  change  of  clothes,  and 
after  a  light  luncheon  Peer  carried  them  off  to 
show  them  round  the  place.  He  had  added  a  num- 
ber of  new  buildings,  and  had  broken  new  land. 
The  farm  had  forty  cows  when  he  came,  now  he 
had  over  sixty.  "Of  course,  all  this  is  a  mere 
nothing  for  fellows  like  you,  who  bring  your  har- 
vest home  in  railway  trains,"  he  said.  "But,  you 
see,  I  have  my  home  here."  And  he  waved  his 
hand  towards  the  house  and  the  farmstead  round. 

Later  they  drove  over  in  the  light  trap  to  look 
at  the  workshop,  and  here  he  made  no  excuses  for 
its  being  small.  He  showed  off  the  little  foundry 
as  if  it  had  been  a  world-famous  seat  of  industry, 
and  maintained  his  serious  air  while  his  compan- 
ions glanced  sideways  at  him,  trying  hard  not  to 
smile. 

The  workmen  touched  their  caps  respectfully, 
and  sent  curious  glances  at  the  strangers. 

"Quite  a  treat  to  see  things  on  the  Norwegian 


200  The  Great  Hunger 

scale  again/'  Ferdinand  Holm  couldn't  resist  say- 
ing at  last. 

"Yes,  isn't  it  charming!"  cried  Peer,  putting 
on  an  air  of  ingenuous  delight.  "This  is  just  the 
size  a  foundry  should  be,  if  its  owner  is  to  have  a 
good  time  and  possess  his  soul  in  peace." 

Ferdinand  Holm  and  Brock  exchanged  glances. 
But  next  moment  Peer  led  them  through  into  a 
side-room,  with  tools  and  machinery  evidently 
having  no  connection  with  the  rest. 

"Now  look  out,"  said  Klaus.  "This  is  the 
holy  of  holies,  you'll  see.  He's  hard  at  it  working 
out  some  new  devilry  here,  or  I'm  a  Dutchman." 

Peer  drew  aside  a  couple  of  tarpaulins,  and 
showed  them  a  mowing  machine  of  the  ordinary 
type,  and  beside  it  another,  the  model  of  a  new 
type  he  had  himself  devised. 

"It's  not  quite  finished  yet,"  he  said.  "But 
I've  solved  the  main  problem.  The  old  single 
knife-blade  principle  was  clumsy;  dragged,  you 
know.  But  with  two  blades — a  pair  of  shears,  so 
to  speak — it'll  work  much  quicker."  And  he  gave 
them  a  little  lecture,  showing  how  much  simpler 
his  mechanism  was,  and  how  much  lighter  the 
machine  would  be. 

' '  And  there  you  are, ' '  said  Klaus.  "  It 's  Colum- 
bus 's  egg  over  again. ' ' 

"The  patent  ought  to  be  worth  a  million,"  said 
Ferdinand  Holm,  slowly,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

"Of  course  the  main  thing  is,  to  make  the  work 


The  Great  Hunger  201 

easier  and  cheaper  for  the  farmers,"  said  Peer, 
with  a  rather  sly  glance  at  Ferdinand. 

Dinner  that  evening  was  a  festive  meal.  When 
the  liqueur  brandy  went  round,  Klaus  greeted  it 
with  enthusiasm.  "Why,  here's  an  old  friend,  as 
I  live !  Real  Lysholmer ! — well,  well ;  and  so  you're 
still  in  the  land  of  the  living?  You  remember  the 
days  when  we  were  boys  together  ? ' '  He  lifted  the 
little  glass  and  watched  the  light  play  in  the  pale 
spirit.  And  the  three  old  friends  drank  together, 
singing  "The  first  full  glass,"  and  then  "The  sec- 
ond little  nip,"  with  the  proper  ceremonial  observ- 
ances, just  as  they  had  done  in  the  old  days,  at 
their  student  wine-parties. 

The  talk  went  merrily,  one  good  story  calling  up 
another.  But  Merle  could  not  help  noticing  the 
steely  gleam  of  Ferdinand  Holm's  eyes,  even  when 
he  laughed. 

The  talk  fell  on  new  doings  in  Egypt,  and  as 
Peer  heard  more  and  more  of  these,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  his  look  changed.  His  glance,  too,  seemed 
to  have  that  glint  of  steel,  there  was  something 
strange  and  absent  in  his  face ;  was  he  feeling,  per- 
haps, that  wife  and  children  were  but  a  drag  on  a 
man,  after  all?  He  seemed  like  an  old  war-horse 
waking  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  trumpets. 

"There's  a  nice  little  job  waiting  for  you,  by 
the  way,"  said  Ferdinand  Holm,  lifting  his  glass 
to  Peer. 

"Very  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure.  A  sub-director- 
ship under  you?" 


202  The  Great  Hunger 

"You're  no  good  under  any  one.  You  "belong 
on  top."  Ferdinand  illustrated  his  words  with  a 
downward  and  an  upward  pointing  of  the  finger. 
* '  The  harnessing  of  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  will 
have  to  be  taken  in  hand.  It's  only  a  question  of 
time." 

"Thanks  very  much!"  said  Peer,  his  eyes  wide 
open  now. 

"The  plan's  simply  lying  waiting  for  the  right 
man.  It  will  be  carried  out,  it  may  be  next  year, 
it  may  be  in  ten  years — whenever  the  man  comes 
along.  I  would  think  about  it,  if  I  were  you. ' ' 

All  looked  at  Peer ;  Merle  fastened  her  eyes  on 
him,  too.  But  he  laughed.  "Now,  what  on  earth 
would  be  the  satisfaction  to  me  of  binding  in 
bands  those  two  ancient  and  honourable  riv- 
ers?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  it  would  mean  an  in- 
crease of  many  millions  of  bushels  in  the  corn  pro- 
duction of  the  world.  Wouldn't  you  have  any 
satisfaction  in  that?" 

"No,"  said  Peer,  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"Or  regular  lines  of  communication  over  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  square  miles  of  the  most 
fertile  country  on  the  globe?" 

"Don't  interest  me,"  said  Peer. 

"Ah!"  Ferdinand  Holm  lifted  his  glass  to 
Merle.  "Tell  me,  dear  lady,  how  does  it  feel  to 
be  married  to  an  anachronism?"' 

"To — to  what?"  stammered  Merle. 

:*Yes,  your  husband's  an  anachronism.      He 


The  Great  Hunger  203 

might,  if  he  chose,  be  one  of  the  kings,  the  proph^ 
ets,  who  lead  the  van  in  the  fight  for  civilisation* 
But  he  will  not ;  he  despises  his  own  powers,  and 
one  day  he  will  start  a  revolution  against  himself. 
Mark  my  words.  Your  health,  dear  lady ! ' ' 

Merle  laughed,  and  lifted  her  glass,  but  hesi- 
tatingly, and  with  a  side-glance  towards  Peer. 

"Yes,  your  husband  is  no  better  now  than  an 
egoist,  a  collector  of  happy  days. '  ' 

"Well,  and  is  that  so  very  wicked?" 

"He  sits  ravelling  out  his  life  into  a  multitude 
of  golden  threads,"  went  on  Ferdinand  with  a 
bow,  his  steely  eyes  trying  to  look  gentle. 

"But  what  is  wrong  in  that?"  said  the  young 
wife  stoutly. 

"It  is  wrong.  It  is  wasting  his  immortal  soul. 
A  man  has  no  right  to  ravel  out  his  life,  even 
though  the  threads  are  of  gold.  A  man's  days  of 
personal  happiness  are  forgotten — his  work  en- 
dures. And  your  husband  in  particular — why  the 
deuce  should  he  be  so  happy?  The  world-evolu- 
tion uses  us  inexorably,  either  for  light  or  for  fuel. 
And  Peer — your  husband,  dear  lady — is  too  good 
for  fuel." 

Merle  glanced  again  at  her  husband.  Peer 
laughed,  but  then  suddenly  compressed  his  lips 
and  looked  down  at  his  plate. 

Then  the  nurse  came  in  with  little  Louise,  to 
say  good-night,  and  the  child  was  handed  round 
from  one  to  the  other.  But  when  the  little  fair- 
haired  girl  came  to  Ferdinand  Holm,  he  seemed 


204  The  Great  Hunger 

loth  to  touch,  her,  and  Merle  read  his  glance  at 
Peer  as  meaning:  "Here  is  another  of  the  bonds 
you've  tied  yourself  up  with." 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said  suddenly,  looking  at  his 
watch,  "I'm  afraid  I  must  ask  for  the  use  of  the 
telephone  again.  Pardon  me,  Fru  Holm."  And 
he  rose  and  left  the  room.  Klaus  looked  at  the 
others  and  shook  his  head.  "That  man  would 
simply  expire  if  he  couldn't  send  a  telegram  once 
an  hour,"  he  said  with  a  laugh. 

Coffee  was  served  out  on  the  balcony,  and  the 
men  sat  and  smoked.  It  was  a  dusky  twilight  of 
early  autumn;  the  hills  were  dark  blue  now  and 
distant ;  there  was  a  scent  of  hay  and  garden  flow- 
ers. After  a  while  Merle  rose  and  said  good- 
night. And  in  her  thoughts,  when  she  found  her- 
self alone  in  her  bedroom,  she  hardly  knew 
whether  to  be  displeased  or  not.  These  strange 
men  were  drawing  Peer  far  away  from  all  that 
had  been  his  chief  delight  since  she  had  known 
him.  But  it  was  interesting  to  see  how  different 
his  manner  was  towards  the  two  friends.  Klaus 
Brock  he  could  jest  and  laugh  with,  but  with  Fer- 
dinand Holm  he  seemed  always  on  his  guard,  ready 
to  assert  himself,  and  whenever  he  contradicted 
him  it  was  always  with  a  certain  deference. 

The  great  yellow  disc  of  the  moon  came  up  over 
the  hills  in  the  east,  drawing  a  broad  pillar  of 
gold  across  the  dark  water.  And  the  three  com- 
rades on  the  balcony  sat  watching  it  for  a  while  in 
silence. 


The  Great  Hunger  205 

"So  you're  really  going  to  go  on  idling  here?" 
asked  Ferdinand  at  last,  sipping  his  liqueur. 

"Is  it  me  you  mean?"  asked  Peer,  bending 
slightly  forward. 

"Well,  I  gather  you're  going  round  here  simply 
being  happy  from  morning  to  night.  I  call  that 
idling. ' ' 

"Thanks." 

"Of  course,  you're  very  unhappy  in  reality. 
Everyone  is,  as  long  as  he's  neglecting  his  powers 
and  aptitudes." 

"Very  many  thanks,"  said  Peer,  with  a  laugh. 
Klaus  sat  up  in  his  chair,  a  little  anxious  as  to 
what  was  coming. 

Ferdinand  was  still  looking  out  over  the  lake. 
"You  seem  to  despise  your  own  trade — as  en- 
gineer?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peer. 

"And  why?" 

"Why,  I  feel  the  lack  of  some  touch  of  beauty 
in  our  ceaseless  craving  to  create  something  new, 
something  new,  always  something  new.  More 
gold,  more  speed,  more  food — are  these  things  not 
all  we  are  driving  at?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  gold  means  freedom.  And 
food  means  life.  And  speed  carries  us  over  the 
dead  moments.  Double  the  possibilities  of  life  for 
men,  and  you  double  their  numbers." 

"And  what  good  will  it  do  to  double  their  num- 
bers? Two  thousand  million  machine-made  souls 
— is  that  what  you  want  ? ' ' 


206  The  Great  Hunger 

"But  hang  it  all,  man,"  put  in  Klaus  Brock 
eagerly,  "think  of  our  dear  Norway  at  least. 
Surely  you  don 't  think  it  would  be  a  misfortune  if 
our  population  increased  so  far  that  the  world 
could  recognise  our  existence." 

"I  do,"  said  Peer,  looking  away  over  the  lake. 

"Ah,  you're  a  fanatic  for  the  small  in  size  and 
in  numbers." 

"I  am  loth  to  see  all  Norway  polluted  with 
factories  and  proletariat  armies.  Why  the  devil 
can't  we  be  left  in  peace?" 

"The  steel  will  not  have  it,"  said  Ferdinand 
Holm,  as  if  speaking  to  the  pillar  of  moonlight  on 
the  water. 

"What?  Who  did  you  say?"  Peer  looked  at 
him  with  wide  eyes. 

Ferdinand  went  on  undisturbed:  "The  steel  will 
not  have  peace.  And  the  fire  will  not.  And  Pro- 
metheus will  not.  The  human  spirit  has  still  too 
many  steps  to  climb  before  it  reaches  the  top. 
Peace?  No,  my  friend — there  are  powers  outside 
you  and  me  that  determine  these  things." 

Peer  smiled,  and  lit  a  new  cigar.  Ferdinand 
Holm  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  went  on,  ad- 
dressing himself  apparently  to  the  moon.  * '  Tigris 
and  Euphrates — Indus  and  Ganges — and  all  the 
rest  of  this  planet — regulate  and  cultivate  the 
whole,  and  what  is  it  after  all?  It's  only  a  ques- 
tion of  a  few  years.  It  is  only  a  humble  begin- 
ning. In  a  couple  of  centuries  or  so  there  will  be 
nothing  left  to  occupy  us  any  more  on  this  little 


The  Great  Hunger  207 

globe  of  ours.  And  then  we'll  have  to  set  about 
colonising  other  worlds." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Peer 
spoke. 

"And  what  do  we  gain  by  it  all?"  he  asked. 

* '  Gain  ?  Do  you  imagine  there  will  ever  be  any 
'thus  far  and  no  farther*  for  the  spirit  of  man? 
Half  a  million  years  hence,  all  the  solar  systems 
we  know  of  now  will  be  regulated  and  ordered  by 
the  human  spirit.  There  will  be  difficulties,  of 
course.  Interplanetary  wars  will  arise,  planetary 
patriotism,  groups  of  planetary  powers  in  alli- 
ances and  coalitions  against  other  groups.  Little 
worlds  will  be  subjugated  by  the  bigger  ones,  and 
so  on.  Is  there  anything  in  all  this  to  grow  dizzy 
over?  Great  heavens — can  anyone  doubt  that 
man  must  go  on  conquering  and  to  conquer  for 
millions  of  years  to  come?  The  world-will  goes 
its  way.  We  cannot  resist.  Nobody  asks  whether 
we  are  happy.  The  will  that  works  towards  the 
infinite  asks  only  whom  it  can  use  for  its  ends,  and 
who  is  useless.  Viola  tout/' 

"And  when  I  die,"  asked  Peer — "what  then?" 

"You!  Are  you  still  going  about  feeling  your 
own  pulse  and  wanting  to  live  for  ever  ?  My  dear 
fellow,  you  don't  exist.  There  is  just  one  person 
on  our  side — the  world-will.  And  tftat  includes 
us  all.  That's  what  I  mean  by 'we.'  And  we  are 
working  towards  the  day  when  we  can  make  God 
respect  us  in  good  earnest.  The  spirit  of  man  will 
hold  a  Bay  of  Judgment,  and  settle  accounts  with 


208  The  Great  Hunger 

Olympus — with  the  riddle,  the  almighty  power  be- 
yond. It  will  be  a  great  reckoning.  And  mark 
my  words — that  is  the  one  single  religious  idea 
that  lives  and  works  in  each  and  every  one  of  us 
— the  thing  that  makes  us  hold  up  our  heads  and 
walk  upright,  forgetting  that  we  are  slaves  and 
things  that  die." 

Suddenly  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "Excuse  me 
a  moment.  If  the  telegraph  office  is  open  ..." 
and  he  rose  and  went  in. 

When  he  returned,  Klaus  and  Peer  were  talk- 
ing of  the  home  of  their  boyhood  and  their  early 
days  together. 

"Remember  that  time  we  went  shark-fishing?" 
asked  Klaus. 

"Oh  yes — that  shark.  Let  me  see — you  were  a 
hero,  weren't  you,  and  beat  it  to  death  with  your 
bare  fists — wasn't  that  it?"  And  then  "Cut  the 
line,  cut  the  line,  and  row  for  your  lives,"  he 
mimicked,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"Oh,  shut  up  now  and  don't  be  so  witty,"  said 
Klaus.  "But  tell  me,  have  you  ever  been  back 
there  since  you  came  home?" 

Peer  told  him  that  he  had  been  to  the  village 
last  year.  His  old  foster-parents  were  dead,  and 
Peter  Ronningen  too;  but  Martin  Bruvold  was 
there  still,  living  in  a  tiny  cottage  with  eight  chil- 
dren. 

"Poor  devil!"  said  Klaus. 

Ferdinand  Holm  had  sat  down  again,  and  now 
he  nodded  towards  the  moon.  "An  old  chum 


The  Great  Hunger  209 

of  yours?  Well,  why  don't  we  send  Mm  a  thou- 
sand crowns?" 

There  was  a  little  pause.  "I  hope  you'll  let  me 
join  you,"  went  on  Ferdinand,  taking  a  note  for 
five  hundred  crowns  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
"You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 

Peer  glanced  at  him  and  took  the  note.  "I'm 
delighted  for  poor  old  Martin's  sake,"  he  said, 
putting  the  note  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  "That'll 
make  fifteen  hundred  for  him." 

Klaus  Brock  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and 
smiled  a  little.  The  talk  turned  on  other  things 
for  a  while,  and  then  he  asked : 

''By  the  way,  Peer,  have  you  seen  that  adver- 
tisement of  the  British  Carbide  Company's?" 

"No,  what  about?" 

1 '  They  want  tenders  for  the  damming  and  har- 
nessing of  the  Besna  River,  with  its  lake  system 
and  falls.  That  should  be  something  in  your  line. " 

"No,"  said  Ferdinand  sharply.  "I  told  you 
before — that  job's  too  small  for  him.  Peer's 
going  to  the  Euphrates." 

"What  would  it  amount  to,  roughly?"  said  Peer, 
addressing  no  one  in  particular. 

"As  far  as  I  could  make  out,  it  should  be  a  mat- 
ter of  a  couple  of  million  crowns  or  thereabout," 
said  Klaus. 

"That's  not  a  thing  for  Peer,"  said  Ferdinand, 
rising  and  lifting  his  hand  to  hide  a  yawn.  * '  Leave 
trifles  like  that  to  the  trifling  souls.  Good-night, 
.gentlemen." 


210  The  Great  Hunger 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  when  all  was  silent 
throughout  the  house,  Peer  was  still  up,  wander- 
ing to  and  fro  in  soft  felt  slippers  in  the  great 
hall.  Now  and  again  he  would  stop,  and  look  out 
of  the  window.  Why  could  he  not  sleep?  The 
moon  was  paling,  the  day  beginning  to  dawn. 


Chapter  VIII 


THE  next  morning  Merle  was  alone  in  the  pantry 
when  she  heard  steps  behind  her,  and  turned  her 
head.  It  was  Klaus  Brock. 

"  Good-morning,  madam  —  ah!  so  this  is  what 
you  look  like  in  morning  dress.  Why,  morning 
neglige  might  have  been  invented  for  you,  if  I  may 
say  so.  You  might  be  a  Ghirlandajo.  Or  no,  bet- 
ter still,  Aspasia  herself." 

"You  are  up  early,"  said  Merle  drily. 

"Am  I?  What  about  Ferdinand  Holm  then? 
He  has  been  up  since  sunrise,  sitting  over  his  let- 
ters and  accounts.  Anything  I  can  help  you  with? 
May  I  move  that  cheese  for  you?  —  Well,  well!  you 
are  strong.  But  there,  I'm  always  de  trop  where 
women  are  concerned." 

"Always  de  trop?"  repeated  Merle,  watching 
him  through  her  long  lashes. 

"Yes  —  my  first  and  only  love  —  do  you  know  who 
she  was?" 

1  '  No,  indeed.    How  should  It" 

"Well,  it  was  Louise  —  Peer's  little  sister.  I 
wish  you  could  have  known  her.  '  ' 

"And  since  then?"  Merle  let  her  eyes  rest  on 
this  flourishing  gentleman,  who  looked  as  if  he 
could  never  have  had  a  trouble  in  the  world. 

an 


212  The  Great  Hunger 

"Since  then,  dear  lady? — since  then?  Let  me 
see.  Why,  at  this  moment  I  really  can't  remember 
ever  having  met  any  other  woman  except  ..." 

"Except  .  .  .  1" 

"Except  yourself,  madam. "    And  he  bowed. 

"You  are  too  kind!" 

"And,  that  being  so,  don't  you  think  it's  your 
plain  duty,  as  a  hospitable  hostess,  to  grant 
me  .  .  ." 

' '  Grant  you — what  ?    A  piece  of  cheese  ! ' ' 

"Why,  no,  thanks.  Something  better.  Some- 
thing much  better  than  that. ' ' 

"What,  then?" 

"A  kiss.  I  might  as  well  have  it  now. "  As  he 
took  a  step  nearer,  she  looked  laughingly  round 
for  a  way  of  escape,  but  he  was  between  her  and 
the  door. 

"Well,"  said  Merle,  "but  you  must  do  some- 
thing to  make  yourself  useful  first.  Suppose  you 
ran  up  that  step-ladder  for  me. ' ' 

"Delighted.  Why,  this  is  great  fun!"  The 
slight  wooden  ladder  creaked  under  the  weight  of 
his  solid  form  as  he  climbed.  "How  high  am  I 
to  go?" 

"To  reach  the  top  shelf — that's  it.  Now,  you 
see  that  big  brown  jar?  Careful — it's  cranber- 
ries." 

"Splendid — I  do  believe  we're  to  have  cran- 
berry preserve  at  dinner. ' '  By  standing  on  tiptoe 
he  managed  to  reach  and  lift  the  heavy  jar,  and 


The  Great  Hunger  213 

stood  holding  it,  his  face  flushed  with  his  exer- 
tions. 

" And  now,  little  lady?" 

"  Just  stay  there  a  moment  and  hold  it  carefully ; 
I  have  to  fetch  something. "  And  she  hurried  out. 

Klaus  stood  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  holding  the 
heavy  jar.  He  looked  round.  "What  was  he  to  do 
with  it?  He  waited  for  Merle  to  return — but  she 
did  not  appear.  Someone  was  playing  the  piano 
in  the  next  room.  Should  he  call  for  help?  He 
waited  on,  getting  redder  and  redder  in  the  face. 
And  still  no  Merle  came. 

With  another  mighty  effort  he  set  the  jar  back 
in  its  place,  and  then  climbed  down  the  ladder  and 
walked  into  the  drawing-room,  very  red  and  out 
of  breath.  In  the  doorway  he  stopped  short  and 
stared. 

"What — well,  I'll And  she's  sitting  here 

playing  the  piano!" 

"Yes.   Aren't  you  fond  of  music,  Herr  Brock?" 

"I'll  pay  you  out  for  this,"  he  said,  shaking  a 
finger  at  her.  "Just  you  wait  and  see,  little  lady, 
if  I  don't  pay  you  out,  with  interest!"  And  he 
turned  and  went  upstairs,  chuckling  as  he  went. 

Peer  was  sitting  at  the  writing-table  in  his  study 
when  Klaus  came  in.  "I'm  just  sealing  up  the 
letter  with  the  money  for  Martin  Bruvold,"  he 
said,  setting  the  taper  to  a  stick  of  sealing  wax. 
"I've  signed  it:  'From  the  shark  fishers.'  " 

"Yes,  it  was  a  capital  idea  of  Ferdinand's. 


214  The  Great  Hwiger 

What  d'you  think  the  poor  old  fellow '11  say  when 
he  opens  it  and  the  big  notes  tumble  out?" 

"I'd  like  to  see  his  face,"  said  Peer,  as  he  wrote 
the  address  on  the  envelope. 

Klaus  dropped  into  a  leather  armchair  and 
leaned  back  comfortably.  "I've  been  downstairs 
flirting  a  little  with  your  wife,"  he  said.  "Your 
wife's  a  wonder,  Peer." 

Peer  looked  at  him,  and  thought  of  the  old  days 
when  the  heavy-built,  clumsy  doctor's  son  had  run 
about  after  the  servant-girls  in  the  town.  He  had 
still  something  of  his  old  lurching  walk,  but  in- 
tercourse with  the  ladies  of  many  lands  had  pol- 
ished him  and  given  lightness  and  ease  to  his  man- 
ner. 

"What  was  I  going  to  say?"  Klaus  went  on. 
"Oh  yes — our  friend  Ferdinand's  a  fine  fellow, 
isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"I  felt  yesterday  exactly  as  I  used  to  feel  when 
we  three  were  together  in  the  old  days.  When  I 
listen  to  his  talk  I  can't  help  agreeing  with  him — 
and  then  you  begin  to  speak,  and  what  you  say,  too, 
seems  to  be  just  what  I've  been  thinking  in  my  in- 
most soul.  Do  you  think  I've  become  shallow, 
Peer?" 

"Well,  your  steam  ploughs  look  after  them- 
selves, I  suppose,  and  the  ladies  of  your  harem 
don't  trouble  you  overmuch.  Do  you  read  at  all?" 

"Best  not  say  too  much  about  that,"  said  Klaua 


The  Great  Hunger  215 

with  a  sigh,  and  it  suddenly  struck  Peer  that  his 
friend's  face  had  grown  older  and  more  worn. 

* '  No, ' '  said  Klaus  again.  ' '  Better  not  say  much 
about  that.  But  tell  me,  old  fellow — you  mustn't 
mind  my  asking — has  Ferdinand  ever  spoken  to 
you  as  his  brother  ...  or  ..." 

Peer  flushed  hotly.   ' '  No, ' '  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"No?" 

"I  owe  more  to  him  than  to  anybody  in  the 
world.  But  whether  he  regards  me  as  a  kinsman 
or  simply  as  an  object  for  his  kindness  to  wreak 
itself  on  is  a  matter  he's  always  left  quite  vague." 

"It's  just  like  him.  He's  a  queer  fellow.  But 
there's  another  thing.  ..." 

1 '  Well  I ' '  said  Peer,  looking  up. 

"It's — er — again  it's  rather  a  delicate  matter  to 
touch  on.  I  know,  of  course,  that  you're  in  the 
enviable  position  of  having  your  fortune  invested 
in  the  best  joint-stock  company  in  the  world " 

"Yes;  and  so  are  you." 

1 '  Oh,  mine 's  a  trifle  compared  with  yours.  Have 
you  still  the  whole  of  your  money  in  Ferdinand's 
company?" 

"Yes.  I've  been  thinking  of  selling  a  few  shares, 
by  the  way.  As  you  may  suppose,  I've  been  spend- 
ing a  good  deal  just  lately — more  than  my  in- 
come." 

"You  mustn't  sell  just  now,  Peer.  They're — I 
daresay  you've  seen  that  they're  down — below 
par,  in  fact." 

* '  What — below  par !   No,  I  had  no  idea  of  that. ' ' 


216  The  Great  Hunger 

"Oh,  only  for  the  time  being,  of  course.  Jnst  a 
temporary  drop.  There's  sure  to  be  another  run 
on  them  soon,  and  they'll  go  up  again.  But  the 
Khedive  has  the  controlling  interest,  you  know, 
and  he's  rather  a  ticklish  customer.  Ferdinand 
is  all  for  extension — wants  to  keep  on  buying  up 
new  land — new  desert,  that  is.  Irrigation  there's 
just  a  question  of  power — that's  how  he  looks  at 
it.  And  of  course  the  bigger  the  scale  of  the  work 
the  cheaper  the  power  will  work  out.  But  the  Khe- 
dive's  holding  back.  It  may  be  just  a  temporary 
whim — may  be  all  right  again  to-morrow.  But 
you  never  know.  And  if  you  think  Ferdinand's 
the  man  to  give  in  to  a  cranky  Khedive,  you're 
much  mistaken.  His  idea  now  is  to  raise  all  the 
capital  he  can  lay  hands  on,  and  buy  him  out! 
What  do  you  say  to  that?  Buy  the  Khedive  clean 
out  of  the  company.  It's  a  large  order.  And  if 
I  were  you,  old  man,  as  soon  as  the  shares  go  up 
again  a  bit,  I'd  sell  out  some  of  my  holding,  and 
put  the  money  into  something  at  home  here.  After 
all,  there  must  be  plenty  of  quite  useful  things  to 
be  had  here." 

Peer  frowned,  and  sat  for  a  while  looking 
straight  before  him.  "No,"  he  said  at  last.  "As 
things  stand  between  Ferdinand  Holm  and  me — • 
well,  if  either  of  us  goes  back  on  the  other,  it's 
not  going  to  be  me." 

"Ah,  in  that  case — I  beg  your  pardon,"  said 
Klaus,  and  he  rose  and  departed. 


The  Great  Hunger  217 

The  christening  was  a  great  occasion,  with  a 
houseful  of  guests,  and  a  great  deal  of  speech- 
making.  The  host  was  the  youngest  and  gayest 
of  the  party.  The  birth  of  his  son  should  be  cele- 
brated in  true  Ethiopian  fashion,  he  declared — 
with  bonfires  and  boating  parties. 

The  moon  was  hidden  that  evening  behind  thick 
dark  clouds,  but  the  boats  full  of  guests  glided 
over  the  black  water  to  the  accompaniment  of 
music  and  laughter.  The  young  madcap  of  a  law- 
yer was  there,  again  sitting  on  the  lap  of  someone 
else's  wife,  and  playing  a  concertina,  till  people 
in  the  farms  on  shore  opened  their  windows  and 
put  their  heads  out  to  listen. 

Later  on  the  bonfires  blazed  up  all  along  the 
lake  shore  and  shone  like  great  flaming  suns  in  the 
water  below.  The  guests  lay  on  the  grass  in  little 
groups  round  picnic  suppers,  and  here  and  there 
a  couple  wandered  by  themselves,  talking  in  whis- 
pers. 

Merle  and  Peer  stood  together  for  a  moment  be- 
side one  of  the  bonfires.  Their  faces  and  figures 
were  lit  by  the  red  glow ;  they  looked  at  each  other 
and  exchanged  a  smile.  He  took  her  hand  and  led 
her  outside  the  circle  of  light  from  the  fire,  and 
pointed  over  to  their  home,  with  all  its  windows 
glowing  against  the  dark. 

1 '  Suppose  this  should  be  the  last  party  we  give, 
Merle." 

"Peer,  what  makes  you  say  that?" 

"Oh,  nothing — only  I  have  a  sort  of  feeling,  as 


218  The  Great  Hunger 

if  something  had  just  ended  and  something  new 
was  to  begin.  I  feel  like  it,  somehow.  But  I 
wanted  to  thank  you,  too,  for  all  the  happy  times 
we've  had." 

"But  Peer— what "  She  got  no  farther,  for 

Peer  had  already  left  her  and  joined  a  group  of 
guests,  where  he  was  soon  as  gay  as  the  rest. 

Then  came  the  day  when  the  two  visitors  were 
to  leave.  Their  birthday  gift  to  the  young  gentle- 
man so  lately  christened  Lorentz  Uthoug  stood  in 
the  drawing-room;  it  was  a  bust  in  red  granite, 
the  height  of  a  man,  of  the  Sun-god  Re  Hormachis, 
brought  with  them  by  the  godfathers  from  Alex- 
andria. And  now  it  sat  in  the  drawing-room  be- 
tween palms  in  pots,  pressing  its  elbows  against 
its  sides  and  gazing  with  great  dead  eyes  out  into 
endless  space. 

Peer  stood  on  the  quay  waving  farewell  to  his 
old  comrades  as  the  steamer  ploughed  through  the 
water,  drawing  after  it  a  fan-shaped  trail  of  little 
waves. 

And  when  he  came  home,  he  walked  about  the 
place,  looking  at  farms  and  woods,  at  Merle  and 
the  children,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  her  strange 
and  new. 

Next  night  he  stayed  up  once  more  alone,  pacing 
to  and  fro  in  the  great  hall,  and  looking  out  of  the 
windows  into  the  dark. 

Wa8  he  ravelling  out  his  life  into  golden  threads 
that  vanished  and  were  forgotten? 


The  Great  Hunger  219 

Was  he  content  to  be  fuel  instead  of  light? 

What  was  he  seeking?  Happiness?  And  beyond 
it?  As  a  boy  he  had  called  it  the  anthem,  the 
universal  hymn.  What  was  it  now?  God?  But 
he  would  hardly  find  Him  in  idleness. 

You  have  drawn  such  nourishment  as  you  could 
from  joy  in  your  home,  from  your  marriage,  your 
fatherhood,  nature,  and  the  fellowmen  around  you 
here.  There  are  unused  faculties  in  you  that  hun- 
ger for  exercise;  that  long  to  be  set  free  to  work, 
to  strive,  to  act. 

You  should  take  up  the  barrage  on  the  Besna, 
Peer.  But  could  you  get  the  contract?  If  you 
once  buckle-to  in  earnest,  no  one  is  likely  to  beat 
you — you'll  get  it,  sure  enough.  But  do  you  really 
want  it? 

Are  you  not  working  away  at  a  mowing-machine 
as  it  is  ?  Better  own  up  that  you  can 't  get  on  with- 
out your  old  craft,  after  all — that  you  must  for 
ever  be  messing  and  meddling  with  steel  and  fire. 
You  can't  help  yourself. 

All  the  things  your  eyes  have  been  fixed  on  in 
these  last  years  have  been  only  golden  visions  in 
a  mist.  The  steel  has  its  own  will.  The  steel  is 
beginning  to  wake  in  you — singing — singing — bent 
on  pressing  onward.  You  have  no  choice. 

The  world-will  goes  on  its  way.  Go  with  ii  or 
be  cast  overboard  as  useless. 

And  still  Peer  walked  up  and  down,  tip  afid 
down. 


220  The  Great  Hunger 

Next  morning  he  set  off  for  the  capital.  Merle 
watched  the  carriage  as  it  drove  away,  and  thought 
to  herself:  "He  was  right.  Something  new  is 
beginning. ' ' 


Chapter  IX 

THERE  came  a  card  from  Peer,  with  a  brief  mes- 
sage: " Off  to  inspect  the  ground.'*  A  fortnight 
later  he  came  home,  loaded  with  maps  and  plans. 
"Of  course  I'm  late  for  the  fair,  as  usual,"  ne 
said.  *  *  But  wait  a  bit. ' ' 

He  locked  himself  into  his  room.  At  last  Merle 
knew  what  it  was  like  to  have  him  at  work.  She 
could  hear  him  in  the  mornings,  walking  up  and 
down  and  whistling.  Then  silence — he  would  be 
standing  over  his  table,  busy  with  notes  and  fig- 
ures. Then  steps  again.  Now  he  was  singing — 
and  this  was  a  novelty  to  himself.  It  was  as  if 
he  carried  in  him  a  store  of  happiness,  a  treasure 
laid  by  of  love,  and  the  beauty  of  nature,  and 
happy  hours,  and  now  it  found  its  way  out  in  song. 
Why  should  he  not  sing  over  the  plans  for  a  great 
barrage  T  Mathematics  are  dry  work  enough,  but 
at  times  they  can  be  as  living  visions,  soaring  up 
into  the  light.  Peer  sang  louder.  Then  silence 
again.  Merle  never  knew  now  when  he  stopped 
work  and  came  to  bed.  She  would  fall  asleep  to 
the  sound  of  his  singing  in  his  own  room,  and  when 
she  woke  he  would  already  be  tramping  up  and 
down  again  in  there ;  and  to  her  his  steps  seemed 
like  the  imperious  tread  of  a  great  commander. 

221 


222  The  Great  Hunger 

He  was  alight  with  new  visions,  new  themes,  and 
his  voice  had  a  lordly  ring.  Merle  looked  at  him 
through  half -closed  eyes  with  a  lingering  glance. 
Once  more  he  was  new  to  her :  she  had  never  seen 
him  like  this. 

At  last  the  work  was  finished,  and  he  sent  in  his 
tender.  And  now  he  was  more  restless  than  ever. 
For  a  week  he  waited  for  an  answer,  tramping  in 
and  out  of  the  place,  going  off  for  rides  on  Bijou, 
and  coming  back  with  his  horse  dripping  with 
sweat.  An  impatient  man  cannot  possibly  ride  at 
any  pace  but  a  gallop.  The  days  passed;  Peer 
was  sleepless,  and  ate  nothing.  More  days  passed. 
At  last  he  came  bursting  into  the  nursery  one 
morning:  " Trunk  call,  Merle;  summons  to  a 
meeting  of  the  Company  Directors.  Quick's  the 
word.  Come  and  help  me  pack — sharp."  And  in 
no  time  he  was  off  again  to  the  city. 

Now  it  was  Merle's  turn  to  walk  up  and  down 
in  suspense.  It  mattered  little  to  her  in  itself 
whether  he  got  the  work  or  not,  but  she  was  keenly 
anxious  that  he  should  win. 

A  couple  of  days  later  a  telegram  came:  "Hur- 
rah, wife!"  And  Merle  danced  round  the  room, 
waving  the  telegram  above  her  head. 

The  next  day  he  was  back  home  again  and 
tramping  up  and  down  the  room.  "What  do  you 
think  your  father  will  say  to  it,  Merle — ha!" 

"Father?    Say  to  what!"  > 

"When  I  ask  him  to  be  my  surety  for  a  couple 
of  hundred  thousand  crowns!" 


The  Great  Hunger  223 

"Is  father  to  be  in  it,  too?"  Merle  looked  at 
him  open-eyed. 

"Oh,  if  he  doesn't  want  to,  we'll  let  him  off. 
But  at  any  rate  I'll  ask  him  first.  Goodbye." 
And  Peer  drove  off  into  town. 

In  Lorentz  Uthoug's  big  house  you  had  to  pass 
through  the  hardware  shop  to  get  to  his  office, 
which  lay  behind.  Peer  knocked  at  the  door,  with 
a  portfolio  under  his  arm.  Herr  Tj'thoug  had  just 
lit  the  gas,  and  was  on  the  point  of  sitting  down 
at  his  American  roll-top  desk,  when  Peer  entered. 
The  grey-bearded  head  with  the  close  thick  hair 
turned  towards  him,  darkened  by  the  shadow  from 
the  green  shade  of  the  burner. 

"You,  is  it?"  said  he.  "Sit  down.  You've 
been  to  Christiania,  I  hear.  And  what  are  you 
busy  with  now?" 

They  sat  down  opposite  each  other.  Peer  ex- 
plained, calmly  and  with  confidence. 

"And  what  does  the  thing  amount  to?"  asked 
Uthoug,  his  face  coming  out  of  the  shadow  and 
looking  at  Peer  in  the  full  light. 

"Two  million  four  hundred  thousand." 

The  old  man  laid  his  hairy  hands  on  the  desk 
and  rose  to  his  feet,  staring  at  the  other  and 
breathing  deeply.  The  sum  half -stunned  him.  Be- 
side it  he  himself  and  his  work  seemed  like  dust 
in  the  balance.  Where  were  all  his  plans  and 
achievements  now,  his  greatness,  his  position,  his 
authority  in  the  town?  Compared  with  amounts 


224  The  Great  Hunger 

like  this,  what  were  the  paltry  sums  he  had  been 
used  to  handle? 

"I — I  didn't  quite  catch "  he  stammered. 

"Did  you  say  two  millions!" 

"  Yes.  I  daresay  it  seems  a  trifle  to  you,"  said 
Peer.  "Indeed,  I've  handled  contracts  myself 
that  ran  to  fifty  million  francs. ' ' 

"What?  How  much  did  you  say?"  Uthoug 
began  to  move  restlessly  about  the  room.  He 
clutched  his  hair,  and  gazed  at  Peer  as  if  doubting 
whether  he  was  quite  sober. 

At  the  same  time  he  felt  it  would  never  do  to  let 
himself  be  so  easily  thrown  off  his  balance.  Ha 
tried  to  pull  himself  together. 

"And  what  do  you  make  out  of  it?"  he  asked. 

"A  couple  of  hundred  thousand,  I  hope." 

"Oh!"  A  profit  on  this  scale  again  rather 
startled  the  old  man.  No,  he  was  nothing;  he 
never  had  been  anything  in  this  world ! 

"How  do  you  know  that  you  will  make  so 
much?" 

"I've  calculated  it  all  out." 

"But  if — but  how  can  you  be  sure  of  it?  Sup- 
pose you've  got  your  figures  wrong?"  His  head 
was  thrust  forward  again  into  the  full  light. 

"I'm  in  the  habit  of  getting  my  figures  right," 
said  Peer. 

When  he  broached  the  question  of  security,  the 
old  man  was  in  the  act  of  moving  away  from  him 
across  the  room.  But  he  stopped  short,  and  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder. 


The  Great  Hunger  225 

"What?  Security?  You  want  me  to  stand  se- 
curity for  two  million  crowns?" 

"No;  the  Company  asks  for  a  guarantee  for 
four  hundred  thousand." 

After  a  pause  the  old  man  said :  "I  see.  Yes, 
I  see.  But — but  I'm  not  worth  as  much  as  that 
altogether." 

"I  can  put  in  three  hundred  thousand  of  the 
four  myself,  in  shares.  And  then,  of  course,  J 
have  the  Loreng  property,  and  the  works.  But 
put  it  at  a  round  figure — will  you  guarantee  a 
hundred  thousand  ? ' ' 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  the  reply 
came  from  the  far  end  of  the  room  to  which 
Uthoug  had  drifted:  "Even  that's  a  big  sum." 

"Of  course  if  you  would  rather  not,  I  could 
make  other  arrangements,  My  two  friends,  who 
have  just  been  here — — "  He  rose  and  began  to 
gather  up  his  papers. 

1 ' No,  no ;  you  mustn't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  Why, 
you  come  down  on  a  man  like  an  avalanche.  You 
must  give  me  time  to  think  it  over — till  to-morrow 
at  least.  And  the  papers — at  any  rate,  I  must  have 
a  look  at  them." 

Uthoug  passed  a  restless  and  troubled  night. 
The  solid  ground  seemed  to  have  failed  him;  his 
mind  could  find  no  firm  foothold.  His  son-in-law 
must  be  a  great  man — he  should  be  the  last  to 
doubt  it.  But  a  hundred  thousand — to  be  ven- 
tured, not  in  landed  property,  or  a  big  trade  deal, 
but  on  the  success  of  a  piece  of  construction  work. 


226  The  Great  Hunger 

This  was  something  new.  It  seemed  fantastic — 
suited  to  the  great  world  outside  perhaps,  or  the 
future.  Had  he  courage  enough  to  stand  in?  Who 
could  tell  what  accidents,  what  disasters  might  not 
happen!  No!  He  shook  his  head.  He  could  not. 
He  dared  not.  But — the  thing  tempted  him.  He 
had  always  wanted  to  be  something  more  than  a 
whale  among  the  minnows.  Should  he  risk  it! 
Should  he  not?  It  meant  staking  his  whole  for- 
tune, his  position,  everything,  upon  the  outcome 
of  a  piece  of  engineering  that  he  understood  noth- 
ing whatever  about.  It  was  sheer  speculation ;  it 
was  gambling.  No,  he  must  say:  No.  Then  he 
was  only  a  whale  among  the  minnows,  after  all. 
No,  he  must  say :  Yes.  Good  God  \  He  clenched 
his  hands  together ;  they  were  clammy  with  sweat, 
and  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  It  was  a  trial,  a 
temptation.  He  felt  an  impulse  to  pray.  But 
what  good  could  that  do — since  he  had  himself 
abolished  God. 

Next  day  Merle  and  Peer  were  rung  up  by  tele- 
phone and  asked  to  come  in  to  dinner  with  the  old 
folks. 

But  when  they  were  all  sitting  at  table,  they 
found  it  impossible  to  keep  the  conversation  going. 
Everyone  seemed  shy  of  beginning  on  the  subject 
they  were  all  thinking  about.  The  old  man's  face 
was  grey  with  want  of  sleep ;  his  wife  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  through  her  spectacles.  Peer  was 
calm  and  smiling. 

At  last,  when  the  claret  came  round,  Fru  Uthoug 


The  Great  Hunger  227 

lifted  her  glass  and  drank  to  Peer.  "Good  for- 
tune!" she  said.  "We  won't  be  the  ones  to  stand 
in  your  way.  Since  you  think  it  is  all  right,  of 
course  it  is.  And  we  all  hope  it  will  turn  out  well 
for  you,  Peer.'* 

Merle  looked  at  her  parents;  she  had  sat 
through  the  meal  anxious  and  troubled,  and  now 
the  tears  rose  into  her  eyes. 

"Thanks,"  said  Peer,  lifting  his  glass  and 
drinking  to  his  host  and  hostess.  "Thanks,"  he 
repeated,  bowing  to  old  Uthoug.  The  matter  was 
arranged.  Evidently  the  two  old  folks  had  talked 
it  over  together  and  come  to  an  agreement. 

It  was  settled,  but  all  four  felt  as  if  the  solid 
ground  were  rocking  a  little  under  their  feet.  All 
their  future,  their  fate,  seemed  staked  upon  a 
throw. 

A  couple  of  days  later,  a  day  of  mild  October 
sunshine,  Peer  happened  to  go  into  the  town,  and, 
catching  sight  of  his  mother-in-law  at  the  window, 
he  went  off  and  bought  some  flowers,  and  took 
them  up  to  her. 

She  was  sitting  looking  out  at  the  yellow  sky  in 
the  west,  and  she  hardly  turned  her  head  as  she 
took  the  flowers.  "Thanks,  Peer,"  she  said,  and 
continued  gazing  out  at  the  sky. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  dear  mother?" 
asked  Peer. 

"Ah!  it  isn't  a  good  thing  always  to  tell  our 
thoughts,"  she  said,  and  she  turned  her  spectacled 
eyes  so  as  to  look  out  over  the  lake. 


228  The  Great  Hunger 

"I  hope  it  was  something  pleasant?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  you,  Peer.  Of  you  and 
Merle." 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  think  of  us." 

* '  You  see,  Peer,  there  is  trouble  coming  for  you. 
A  great  deal  of  trouble."  She  nodded  her  head 
towards  the  yellow  sky  in  the  west. 

"Trouble?  Why?  Why  should  trouble  come  to 
us?" 

11  Because  you  are  happy,  Peer." 

"What?    Because  I  am ?" 

"Because  all  things  blossom  and  flourish  about 
you.  Be  sure  that  there  are  unseen  powers  enough 
that  grudge  you  your  happiness." 

Peer  smiled.    "You  think  so?"  he  asked. 

"I  know  it,"  she  answered  with  a  sigh,  gazing 
out  into  the  distance.  "You  have  made  enemies 
of  late  amongst  all  those  envious  shadows  that 
none  can  see.  But  they  are  all  around  us.  I  see 
them  every  day;  I  have  learned  to  know  them,  in 
all  these  years.  I  have  fought  with  them.  And 
it  is  well  for  Merle  that  she  has  learned  to  sing 
in  a  house  so  full  of  shadows.  God  grant  she  may 
be  able  to  sing  them  away  from  you  too." 

When  Peer  left  the  house  he  felt  as  if  little  shud- 
ders of  cold  were  passing  down  his  back.  ' '  Pooh ! ' ' 
he  exclaimed  as  he  reached  the  street.  "She  is 
not  right  in  her  head."  And  he  hurried  to  his 
carriole  and  drove  off  home. 

"Old  Bode  will  be  pleased,  anyhow,"  he  thought. 
"He'll  be  his  own  master  in  the  workshop  now — 


The  Great  Hunger  229 

the  dream  of  his  life.  Well,  everyone  for  himself. 
And  the  bailiff  will  have  things  all  his  own  way  at 
Loreng  for  a  year  or  two.  Well,  well !  Come  up, 
Brownie!" 


Chapter  X 

"PEER,  you're  surely  not  going  away  just  now? 
Oh,  Peer,  you  mustn't.  You  won't  leave  me  alone, 
Peer!" 

"Merle,  dear,  now  do  be  sensible.  No,  no — do 
let  go,  dear."  He  tried  to  disengage  her  hands 
that  were  clasped  behind  his  neck. 

"Peer,  you  have  never  been  like  tliis  before, 
Don't  you  care  for  me  any  more — or  the  chil- 
dren?" 

"Merle,  dearest,  you  don't  imagine  that  I  like 
going.  But  you  surely  don't  want  me  to  have 
another  big  breach  this  year.  It  would  be  sheer 
ruin,  I  do  assure  you.  Come,  come  now;  let  me 
go." 

But  she  held  him  fast.  "And  what  happens  to 
those  dams  up  there  is  more  to  you  now  than  what 
becomes  of  me ! ' ' 

"You  will  be  all  right,  dear.  The  doctor  and 
the  nurse  have  promised  to  be  on  the  spot  the 
moment  you  send  word.  And  you  managed  so  well 
before.  ...  I  simply  cannot  stay  now,  Merle. 
There's  too  much  at  stake.  There,  there,  good- 
bye! Be  sure  you  telegraph "  He  kissed  her 

over  the  eyes,  put  her  gently  down  into  a  chair, 

320 


The  Great  Hunger  231 

and  hurried  out  of  the  room,  feeling  her  terrified 
glance  follow  him  as  he  went. 

The  April  sun  had  cleared  away  the  snow  from 
the  lowlands,  but  when  Peer  stepped  out  of  the 
train  up  in  Espedal  he  found  himself  back  in  win- 
ter— farms  and  fields  still  covered,  and  ridges  and 
peaks  deep  in  white  dazzling  snow.  And  soon  he 
was  sitting  wrapped  in  his  furs,  driving  a  miser- 
able dun  pony  up  a  side-valley  that  led  out  on  to 
the  uplands. 

The  road  was  a  narrow  track  through  the  snow, 
yellow  with  horse-dung,  and  a  mass  of  holes  and 
ruts,  worn  by  his  own  teams  that  had  hauled  their 
heavy  loads  of  cement  this  way  all  through  that 
winter  and  the  last,  up  to  the  plateau  and  across 
the  frozen  lakes  to  Besna. 

The  steel  will  on.  The  steel  cares  nothing  for 
human  beings.  Merle  must  come  through  it  alone. 

When  a  healthy,  happy  man  is  hampered  and 
thwarted  in  a  great  work  by  annoyances  and  dis- 
asters, he  behaves  like  an  Arab  horse  on  a  heavy  • 
march.  At  first  it  moves  at  a  brisk  trot,  uphill 
and  downhill,  and  it  goes  faster  and  faster  as  its 
strength  begins  to  flag.  And  when  at  last  it  is 
thoroughly  out  of  breath  and  ready  to  drop,  it 
breaks  into  an  easy  gallop. 

This  was  not  the  work  he  had  once  dreamed  of 
finding.  Now,  as  before,  his  hunger  for  eternal 
things  seemed  ever  at  the  side  of  his  accomplish- 
ment, asking  continually:  Whither?  Why!  and 
What  thenT 


232  The  Great  Hunger 

But  by  degrees  the  difficulties  had  multiplied  and 
mounted,  till  at  last  his  whole  mind  was  taken  up 
by  the  one  thought — to  put  it  through.  Good  or 
bad  in  itself — he  must  make  a  success  of  it.  He 
had  undertaken  it,  and  he  must  see  it  through. 
He  must  not  be  beaten. 

And  so  he  fought  on.  It  was  merely  a  trial  of 
strength;  a  fight  with  material  difficulties.  Aye, 
but  was  that  all  it  was?  Were  there  not  times 
when  he  felt  himself  struggling  with  something 
greater,  something  worse?  A  new  motive  force 
seemed  to  have  come  into  his  life — misfortune.  A 
power  outside  his  own  will  had  begun  to  play 
tricks  with  him. 

Your  calculations  may  be  sound,  correct  in  every 
detail,  and  yet  things  may  go  altogether  wrong. 

Who  could  include  in  his  calculations  the  chance 
that  a  perfectly  sober  engineer  will  get  drunk  one 
day  and  give  orders  so  crazy  that  it  costs  tens  of 
thousands  to  repair  the  damage  ?  Who  could  fore- 
see that  against  all  probability  a  big  vein  of  water 
would  be  tapped  in  tunnelling,  and  would  burst 
out,  flooding  the  workings  and  overwhelming  the 
workmen — so  that  the  next  day  a  train  of  un- 
painted  deal  coffins  goes  winding  out  over  the 
frozen  lakes? 

More  than  once  there  had  been  remarks  and 
questions  in  the  newspapers:  "Another  disaster 
at  the  Besna  Falls.  Who  is  to  blame?*' 

It  was  because  he  himself  was  away  on  a  busi- 
ness journey  and  Falkman  had  neglected  to  take 


The  Great  Hunger  233 

elementary  precautions  that  the  big  rock-fall  oc- 
curred in  the  tunnel,  killing  four  men,  and  destroy- 
ing the  new  Belgian  rock-drill,  that  had  cost  a  good 
hundred  thousand,  before  it  had  begun  to  work. 
This  sort  of  thing  was  not  faulty  calculation — it 
was  malicious  fate. 

"Come  up,  boy!  We  must  get  there  to-night. 
The  flood  mustn't  have  a  chance  this  year  to  lay 
the  blame  on  me  because  I  wasn't  on  the  spot." 

And  then,  to  cap  the  other  misfortunes,  his  chief 
contractor  for  material  had  gone  bankrupt,  and 
now  prices  had  risen  far  above  the  rates  he  had 
allowed  for — adding  fresh  thousands  to  the  extra 
expenditure. 

But  he  would  put  the  thing  through,  even  if  he 
lost  money  by  it.  His  envious  rivals  who  had 
lately  begun  to  run  down  his  projects  in  the  tech- 
nical papers — he  would  make  them  look  foolish 
yet. 

And  then? 

Well,  it  may  be  that  the  Promethean  spirit  is 
preparing  a  settling  day  for  the  universe  some- 
where out  in  infinity.  But  what  concern  is  that  of 
mine  I  What  about  my  own  immortal  soul? 

Silence — push  on,  push  on.  There  may  be  a 
snowstorm  any  minute.  Come  up — get  along,  you 
scarecrow. 

The  dun  struggles  on  to  the  end  of  a  twelve- 
mile  stage,  and  then  the  valley  ends  and  the  full 
blast  from  the  plateau  meets  them.  Here  lies  the 
posting  station,  the  last  farm  in  the  valley.  He 


284  The  Great  Hunger 

swings  into  the  yard  and  is  soon  sitting  in  the 
room  over  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  pipe. 

Merle?    How  are  things  with  Merle  now? 

Ah!  here  comes  his  own  horse,  the  big  black 
stallion  from  Gudbrandsdal.  This  beast's  trot  is 
a  different  thing  from  the  poor  dun's — the  sleigh 
flies  up  to  the  door.  And  in  a  moment  Peer  is  sit- 
ting in  it  again  in  his  furs. 

Ah !  what  a  relief  to  have  a  fresh  horse,  and  one 
that  makes  light  of  the  load  behind  him.  Away 
he  goes  at  a  brisk  trot,  with  lifted  head  and  bells 
jingling,  over  the  frozen  lakes.  Here  and  there 
on  the  hillslopes  a  grey  hut  or  two  show  out — 
saeters,  which  have  lain  there  unchanged  for  per- 
haps a  couple  of  thousand  years.  But  a  new  time 
is  coming.  The  saeter-horns  will  be  heard  no 
longer,  and  the  song  of  the  turbines  will  rise  in 
their  place. 

An  icy  wind  is  blowing;  the  horse  throws  up  its 
head  and  snorts.  Big  snowflakes  come  driving  on 
the  wind,  and  soon  a  regular  snowstorm  is  raging, 
lashing  the  traveller's  face  till  he  gasps.  First  the 
horse's  mane  and  tail  grow  white  with  snow,  then 
its  whole  body.  The  drifts  grow  bigger,  the  black 
has  to  make  great  bounds  to  clear  them.  Bravo, 
old  boy!  we  must  get  there  before  dark.  There 
are  brushwood  brooms  set  out  across  the  ice  to 
mark  the  way,  but  who  could  keep  them  in  sight 
in  a  driving  smother  like  this?  Peer's  own  face 
is  plastered  white  now,  and  he  feels  stunned  and 
dazed  under  the  lash  of  the  snow. 


The  Great  Hwiger  285 

He  lias  worked  under  the  burning  snns  of  Egypt 
*— and  now  here.  But  the  steel  will  on.  The  wave 
rolls  on  its  way  over  all  the  world. 

If  this  snow  should  turn  to  rain  now,  it  will  mean 
a  flood.  And  then  the  men  will  have  to  turn  out 
to-night  and  work  to  save  the  dams. 

One  more  disaster,  and  he  would  hardly  be  able 
to  finish  within  the  contract  time.  And  that  once 
exceeded,  each  day's  delay  means  a  penalty  of  a 
thousand  crowns. 

It  is  getting  darker. 

At  last  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  on  the  way  but 
a  shapeless  mass  of  snow  struggling  with  bowed 
head  against  the  storm,  wading  deep  in  the  loose 
drifts,  wading  seemingly  at  haphazard — and  trail- 
ing after  it  an  indefinable  bundle  of  white — dead 
white.  Behind,  a  human  being  drags  along,  hold- 
ing on  for  dear  life  to  the  rings  on  the  sleigh.  It 
is  the  post-boy  from  the  last  stage. 

At  last  they  were  groping  their  way  in  the  dark- 
ness towards  the  shore,  where  the  electric  lights 
of  the  station  showed  faintly  through  the  snow- 
fog.  And  hardly  had  Peer  got  out  of  the  sleigh 
before  the  snow  stopped  suddenly,  and  the  dazt 
zling  electric  suns  shone  over  the  place,  with  the 
workmen's  barracks,  the  assistants'  quarters,  the 
offices,  and  his  own  little  plank-built  house.  Two 
of  the  engineers  came  out  to  meet  him,  and  saluted 
respectfully. 

"Well,  how  is  everything  getting  on?" 


236  The  Great  Hunger 

The  greybeard  answered:  "The  men  have 
struck  work  to-day." 

"Struck?    What  for?" 

"They  want  us  to  take  back  the  machinist  that 
was  dismissed  the  other  day  for  drunkenness," 

Peer  shook  the  snow  from  his  fur  coat,  took  his 
bag,  and  walked  over  to  the  building,  the  others 
following.  "Then  we'll  have  to  take  him  back," 
he  said.  * '  We  can 't  afford  a  strike  now. ' ' 

A  couple  of  days  later  Peer  was  lying  in  bed, 
when  the  post-bag  was  brought  in.  He  shook  the 
letters  out  over  the  coverlet,  and  caught  sight  of 
one  from  Elans  Brock. 

What  was  this?  Why  did  his  hand  tremble  as 
he  took  it  up?  Of  course  it  was  only  one  of  Klaus 's 
ordinary  friendly  Ietters0 

DEAB  FEIEND, — This  is  a  hard  letter  to  write. 
But  I  do  hope  you  have  taken  my  advice  and  got 
some  of  your  money  at  any  rate  over  to  Norway. 
Well,  to  be  as  brief  as  possible !  Ferdinand  Holm 
has  decamped,  or  is  in  prison,  or  possibly  worse — 
you  know  well  enough  it's  no  good  asking  ques- 
tions in  a  country  like  this  when  a  big  man  sud- 
denly disappears.  He  had  made  enemies  in  the 
highest  places;  he  was  playing  a  dangerous  game 
^-and  this  is  the  end  of  it. 

You  know  what  it  means  when  a  business  goes 
into  liquidation  out  here,  and  no  strong  man  on 


The  Great  Hunger  237 

the  spot  to  look  after  things.    We  Europeans  can 
whistle  for  our  share. 

You'll  take  it  coolly,  I  know.  IVe  lost  every 
penny  I  had — but  you've  still  got  your  place  over 
there  and  the  workshops.  And  you're  the  sort  of 
fellow  to  make  twice  as  much  next  time,  or  I  don't 
know  you.  I  hope  the  Besna  barrage  is  to  be  a 
success. 

Yours  ever, 

KLAUS  BEOCK. 

P.S. — Of  course  you'll  understand  that  now  my 
friend  has  been  thrown  overboard  it  will  very 
likely  be  my  turn  next.  But  I  can't  leave  now — to 
try  would  rouse  suspicion  at  once.  We  foreigners 
have  some  difficult  balancing  to  do,  to  escape  a 
fall.  Well,  if  by  chance  you  don't  hear  from  me 
again,  you'll  know  something  has  happened! 

Outside,  the  water  was  streaming  down  the 
channels  into  the  fall.  Peer  lay  still  for  a  while, 
only  one  knee  moving  up  and  down  beneath  the 
clothes.  He  thought  of  his  two  friends.  And  he 
thought  that  he  was  now  a  poor  man — and  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  burden  of  the  security  would 
fall  now  on  old  Lorentz  D.  Uthoug. 

Clearly,  Fate  has  other  business  on  hand  than 
making  things  easy  for  you,  Peer.  You  must  fight 
your  fight  out  single-handed. 


Chapter  XI 

ONE  evening  in  the  late  autumn  Merle  was  sitting 
at  home  waiting  for  her  husband.  He  had  been 
away  for  several  weeks,  so  it  was  only  natural  that 
she  should  make  a  little  festivity  of  his  return. 
The  lamps  were  lit  in  all  the  rooms,  wood  fires 
were  crackling  in  all  the  stoves,  the  cook  was  busy 
with  his  favourite  dishes,  and  little  Louise,  now 
five  years  old,  had  on  her  blue  velvet  frock.  She 
was  sitting  on  the  floor,  nursing  two  dolls,  and 
chattering  to  them.  "Mind  you're  a  good  girl 
now,  Josephine.  Your  grandpa  will  be  here  di- 
rectly. ' '  Merle  looked  in  through  the  kitchen  door : 
"Have  you  brought  up  the  claret,  Bertha?  That's 
right.  You'd  better  put  it  near  the  stove  to 
warm. ' '  Then  she  went  round  all  the  rooms  again. 
The  two  youngest  children  were  in  bed — was  there 
anything  more  to  be  done? 

It  would  be  an  hour  at  least  before  he  could  be 
here,  yet  she  could  not  help  listening  all  the  time 
for  the  sound  of  wheels.  But  she  had  not  finished 
yet.  She  hurried  up  to  the  bathroom,  turned  on 
the  hot  water,  undressed,  and  put  on  an  oilskin 
cap  to  keep  her  hair  dry,  and  soon  she  was  splash- 
ing about  with  soap  and  sponge.  Why  not  make 

238 


The  Great  Hunger  239 

herself  as  attractive  as  she  could,  even  if  things 
did  look  dark  for  them  just  now? 

A  little  stream  of  talk  went  on  in  her  brain. 
Strange  that  one's  body  could  be  so  great  a  pleas- 
ure to  another.  Here  he  kissed  you — and  here — 
and  here — and  often  he  seemed  beside  himself  with 
joy.  And  do  you  remember — that  time?  You  held 
back  and  were  cold  often — perhaps  too  often — is 
it  too  late  now!  Ah!  he  has  other  things  to  think 
of  now.  The  time  is  gone  by  when  you  could  be 
comfort  enough  to  him  in  all  troubles.  But  is  it 
quite  gone  by?  Oh  yes;  last  time  he  came  home, 
he  hardly  seemed  to  notice  that  we  had  a  new  lit- 
tle girl,  that  he  had  never  seen  before.  Well,  no 
doubt  it  must  be  so.  He  did  not  complain,  and 
he  was  calm  and  quiet,  but  his  mind  was  full  of 
a  whole  world  of  serious  things,  a  world  where 
there  was  no  room  for  wife  and  children.  Will 
it  be  the  same  this  evening  again  ?  Will  he  notice 
that  you  have  dressed  so  carefully  to  please  him? 
Will  it  be  a  joy  to  him  any  more  to  feel  his  arms 
around  you? 

She  stood  in  front  of  the  big,  white-framed  mir- 
ror, and  looked  critically  at  herself.  No,  she  was 
no  longer  young  as  she  had  been.  The  red  in  her 
cheeks  had  faded  a  little  these  last  few  years, 
and  there  were  one  or  two  wrinkles  that  could  not 
be  hidden.  But  her  eyebrows — he  had  loved  to 
kiss  them  once — they  were  surely  much  as  be- 
fore. And  involuntarily  she  bent  towards  the 


240  The  Great  Hunger 

glass,  and  stroked  the  dark  growth  above  her  eyes 
as  if  it  were  his  hand  caressing  her. 

She  came  down  at  last,  dressed  in  a  loose  blue 
dress  with  a  broad  lace  collar  and  blond  lace  in 
the  wide  sleeves.  And  not  to  seem  too  much 
dressed,  she  had  put  on  a  red-flowered  apron  to 
give  herself  a  housewifely  look. 

It  was  past  seven  now.  Louise  came  whimper- 
ing to  her,  and  Merle  sank  down  in  a  chair  by 
the  window,  and  took  the  child  on  her  lap,  and 
waited. 

The  sound  of  wheels  in  the  night  may  mean  the 
approach  of  fate  itself.  Some  decision,  some  final 
word  that  casts  us  down  in  a  moment  from  wealth 
to  ruin — who  knows?  Peer  had  been  to  England 
now,  trying  to  come  to  some  arrangement  with  the 
Company.  Sh! — was  that  not  wheels?  She  rose, 
trembling,  and  listened. 

No,  it  had  passed  on. 

It  was  eight  o  'clock  now,  time  for  Louise  to  go 
to  bed;  and  Merle  began  undressing  her.  Soon 
the  child  was  lying  in  her  little  white  bed,  with  a 
doll  on  either  side.  "Give  Papa  a  tiss,"  she  bab- 
bled, ' '  and  give  him  my  love.  And  Mama,  do  you 
think  he'll  let  me  come  into  his  bed  for  a  bit  to- 
morrow morning?" 

"Oh  yes,  I'm  sure  he  will.  And  now  lie  down 
and  go  to  sleep,  there's  a  good  girl." 

Merle  sat  down  again  in  the  room  and  waited. 
But  at  last  she  rose,  put  on  a  cloak  and  went  out. 

The  town  lay  down  there  in  the  autumn  dark- 


The  Great  Hunger  241 

ness  under  a  milk-white  mist  of  light.  And  over 
the  black  hills  all  around  rose  a  world  of  stars. 
Somewhere  out  there  was  Peer,  far  out  maybe 
upon  some  country  road,  the  horse  plodding  on 
through  the  dark  at  its  own  will,  its  master  sitting 
with  bowed  head,  brooding. 

"Help  us,  Thou  above — and  help  him  most,  he 
has  had  so  much  adversity  in  these  last  days." 

But  the  starry  vault  seems  icy  cold — it  has  heard 
the  prayers  of  millions  and  millions  before — the 
hearts  of  men  are  nothing  to  the  universe. 

Merle  drooped  her  head  and  went  in  again  to 
the  house. 

It  was  midnight  when  Peer  drove  up  the  hill 
towards  his  home.  The  sight  of  the  great  house 
with  its  brilliantly  lighted  windows  jarred  so 
cruelly  on  his  wearied  mind  that  he  involuntarily 
gave  the  horse  a  cut  with  his  whip. 

He  flung  the  reins  to  the  stable-boy  who  had 
come  out  with  a  lantern,  and  walked  up  the  steps, 
moving  almost  with  a  feeling  of  awe  in  this  great 
house,  as  if  it  already  belonged  to  someone  else. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  drawing-room — no 
one  there,  but  light,  light  and  comfort.  He  passed 
through  into  the  next  room,  and  there  sat  Merle, 
alone,  in  an  armchair,  with  her  head  resting  on 
the  arm,  asleep. 

Had  she  been  waiting  so  long? 

A  wave  of  warmth  passed  through  him ;  he  stood 
still,  looking  at  her ;  and  presently  her  bowed  fig- 
ure slowly  straightened;  her  pale  face  relaxed  into 


242  The  Great  Hunger 

a  smile.  Without  waking  her,  he  went  on  into  the 
nursery,  where  the  lights  were  still  burning.  But 
here  the  lights  shone  only  on  three  little  ones, 
lying  in  their  clean  night-clothes,  asleep. 

He  went  back  to  the  dining-room ;  more  lights, 
and  a  table  laid  for  two,  a  snowy  cloth  and  flowers, 
and  a  single  carnation  stuck  into  his  napkin — that 
must  be  from  Louise — little  Louise. 

At  last  Merle  was  awakened  by  the  touch  of  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Oh,  are  you  there?" 

"Good-evening,  Merle!"  They  embraced,  and 
he  kissed  her  forehead.  But  she  could  see  that  his 
mind  was  busy  with  other  things. 

They  sat  down  to  table,  and  began  their  meal. 
She  could  read  the  expression  of  his  face,  his  voice, 
his  calm  air — she  knew  they  meant  bad  news. 

But  she  would  not  question  him.  She  would  only 
try  to  show  him  that  all  things  else  could  be  en- 
dured, if  only  they  two  loved  each  other. 

But  the  time  had  passed  when  an  unexpected 
caress  from  her  was  enough  to  send  him  wild  with 
joy.  She  sat  there  now  trembling  inwardly  with 
suspense,  wondering  if  he  would  notice  her — if  he 
could  find  any  comfort  in  having  her  with  him,  still 
young  and  with  something  of  her  beauty  left. 

He  looked  over  to  her  with  a  far-away  smile. 
"Merle,"  he  asked,  "what  do  you  think  your 
father  is  worth  altogether?"  The  words  came 
like  a  quiet  order  from  a  captain  standing  on  the 
bridge,  while  his  ship  goes  down. 


The  Great  Hunger  243 

"Oh,  Peer,  don't  think  about  all  that  to-night. 
Welcome  home!"  And  she  smiled  and  took  his 
hand. 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  and  pressed  her  fingers;  but 
his  thoughts  were  still  far  off.  And  he  went  on 
eating  without  knowing  what  he  ate. 

"And  what  do  you  think?  Louise  has  begun  the 
violin.  You've  no  idea  how  the  little  thing  takes 
to  it." 

"Oh?" 

"And  Asta's  got  another  tooth — she  had  a 
wretched  time,  poor  thing,  while  it  was  coming 
through. ' ' 

It  was  as  if  she  were  drawing  the  children  up  to 
him,  to  show  him  that  at  least  he  still  had  them. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment.  "Merle,  you 
ought  never  to  have  married  me.  It  would  have 
been  better  for  you  and  for  your  people  too." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Peer — you  know  you'll  be  able 
to  make  it  all  right  again." 

They  went  up  to  bed,  and  undressed  slowly. 
"He  hasn't  noticed  me  yet,"  thought  Merle. 

And  she  laughed  a  little,  and  said,  "I  was  sitting 
thinking  this  evening  of  the  first  day  we  met.  I 
suppose  you  never  think  of  it  now?" 

He  turned  round,  half  undressed,  and  looked  at 
her.  Her  lively  tone  fell  strangely  on  his  ears. 
"She  does  not  ask  how  I  have  got  on,  or  how 
things  are  going,"  he  thought.  But  as  he  went  on 
looking  at  her  he  began  at  last  to  see  through  her 
smile  to  the  anxious  heart  beneath. 


244  The  Great  Hunger 

Ah,  yes;  lie  remembered  well  that  far-off  sum- 
mer when  life  had  been  a  holiday  in  the  hills,  and 
a  girl  making  coffee  over  a  fire  had  smiled  at  him 
for  the  first  time.  And  he  remembered  the  first 
sun-red  night  of  his  love  on  the  shining  lake-mir- 
ror, when  his  heart  was  filled  with  the  rush  of  a 
great  anthem  to  heaven  and  earth. 

She  stood  there  still.  He  had  her  yet.  But  for 
the  first  time  in  their  lives  she  came  to  him  now 
humbly,  begging  him  to  make  the  best  of  her  as 
she  was. 

An  unspeakable  warmth  began  to  flow  through 
his  heavy  heart.  But  he  did  not  rush  to  embrace 
her  and  whirl  her  off  in  a  storm  of  passionate  de- 
light. He  stood  still,  staring  before  him,  and, 
drawing  himself  up,  swore  to  himself  with  fast- 
closed  lips  that  he  would,  he  would  trample  a  way 
through,  and  save  things  for  them  both,  even  yet. 

The  lights  were  put  out,  and  soon  they  lay  in 
their  separate  beds,  breathing  heavily  in  the  dark. 
Peer  stretched  himself  out,  with  his  face  up,  think- 
ing, with  closed  eyes.  He  was  hunting  in  the  dark 
for  some  way  to  save  his  dear  ones.  And  Merle 
lay  so  long  waiting  for  one  caress  from  him  that 
at  last  she  had  to  draw  out  her  handkerchief  and 
press  it  over  her  eyes,  while  her  body  shook  with 
a  noiseless  sobbing. 


Chapter  XII 

OLD  Lorentz  D.  Uthoug  rarely  visited  his  rich  sis- 
ter at  Bruseth,  but  to-day  he  had  taken  his  weary 
way  up  there,  and  the  two  masterful  old  folks  sat 
now  facing  each  other. 

' '  So  you  've  managed  to  find  your  way  up  here  f '  * 
said  Aunt  Marit,  throwing  out  her  ample  bosom 
and  rubbing  her  knees  like  a  man. 

"Why,  yes — I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  how  you 
were  getting  on,"  said  Uthoug,  squaring  his  broad 
shoulders. 

"Quite  well,  thanks.  Having  no  son-in-law,  I'm 
not  likely  to  go  bankrupt,  I  daresay." 

"I'm  not  bankrupt,  either,"  said  old  Uthoug, 
fixing  his  red  eyes  on  her  face. 

"Perhaps  not.    But  what  about  him?" 

'  *  Neither  is  he.  He  '11  be  a  rich  man  before  very 
long." 

' '  He ! — rich !    Did  you  say  rich  I ' ' 

"Before  a  year's  out,"  answered  the  old  man 
calmly.  ' '  But  you  '11  have  to  help. ' ' 

"I!"  Aunt  Marit  shifted  her  chair  backwards, 
gaping.  "I,  did  you  say?  Ha-ha-ha!  Just  tell 
me,  how  many  hundreds  of  thousands  did  he  lose 
over  that  ditch  or  drain  or  whatever  it  was?" 

"He  was  six  months  behind  time  in  finishing  it, 
245 


246  The  Great  Hunger 

I  know.  But  the  Company  agreed  to  halve  the 
forfeit  for  delay  when  they'd  seen  what  a  master- 
piece the  work  was." 

"Ah,  yes — and  what  about  the  contractors, 
whom  he  couldn't  pay,  I  hear?" 

"He's  paid  them  all  in  full  now.  The  Bank 
arranged  things. ' ' 

"I  see.  After  you  and  he  had  mortaged  every 
stick  and  rag  you  had  in  the  world.  Yes,  indeed — • 
you  deserve  a  good  whipping,  the  pair  of  you!" 

Uthoug  stroked  his  beard.  "From  a  financial 
point  of  view  the  thing  wasn't  a  success  for  him, 
I'll  admit.  But  I  can  show  you  here  what  the  en- 
gineering people  say  about  it  in  the  technical  pa- 
pers. Here's  an  article  with  pictures  of  him  and 
of  the  barrage." 

"Well!  he'd  better  keep  his  family  on  pictures 
in  the  papers  then,"  said  the  widow,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  paper  he  offered. 

"He'll  soon  be  on  top  again,"  said  her  brother, 
putting  the  papers  back  in  his  pocket.  He  sat 
there  in  front  of  her  quite  unruffled.  He  would  let 
people  see  that  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  crushed 
by  a  reverse ;  that  there  were  other  things  he  val- 
ued more  than  money. 

' '  Soon  be  on  top  f ' '  repeated  Aunt  Marit.  * '  Has 
he  got  round  you  again  with  some  nonsense!" 

"He's  invented  a  new  mowing  machine.  It's 
nearly  finished.  And  the  experts  say  it  will  be 
worth  a  million. ' ' 

"Ho !  and  you  want  to  come  over  me  with  a  talo 


The  Great  Hunger  247 

like  that?"  The  widow  shifted  her  chair  a  little 
farther  back. 

"You  must  help  us  to  carry  on  through  this 
year — both  of  us.  If  you  will  stand  security  for 
thirty  thousand,  the  bank  .  .  ." 

Aunt  Marit  of  Bruseth  slapped  her  knees  em- 
phatically. "I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort!" 

"For  twenty  thousand,  then?" 

"Not  for  twenty  pence!" 

Lorentz  Uthoug  fixed  his  gaze  on  his  sister's 
face ;  his  red  eyes  began  to  glow. 

"You'll  have  to  do  it,  Marit,"  he  said  calmly. 
He  took  a  pipe  from  his  pocket  and  set  to  work  to 
fill  and  light  it. 

The  two  sat  for  a  while  looking  at  each  other, 
each  on  the  alert  for  fear  the  other's  will  should 
prove  the  stronger.  They  looked  at  each  other  so 
long  that  at  last  both  smiled  involuntarily. 

"I  suppose  you've  taken  to  going  to  church  with 
your  wife  now?"  asked  the  widow  at  last,  her  eyes 
blinking  derision. 

"If  I  put  my  trust  in  the  Lord,"  he  said,  "I 
might  just  sit  down  and  pray  and  let  things  go  to 
ruin.  As  it  is,  I've  more  faith  in  human  works, 
and  that's  why  I'm  here  now." 

The  answer  pleased  her.  The  widow  at  Bruseth 
was  no  churchgoer  herself.  She  thought  the  Lord 
had  made  a  bad  mistake  in  not  giving  her  any 
children. 

"Will  you  have  some  coffee?"  she  asked,  rising 
from  her  seat. 


248  The  Great  Hunger 

"Now  you're  talking  sense, "  said  her  brother, 
and  his  eyes  twinkled.  He  knew  nis  sister  and  her 
ways.  And  now  he  lit  his  pipe  and  leaned  back 
comfortably  in  his  chair. 


Chapter  XIII 


ONOE  more  Peer  stood  in  his  workroom  down  at 
the  foundry,  wrestling  with  fire  and  steel. 

A  working  drawing  is  a  useful  thing ;  an  idea  in 
one's  head  is  all  very  well.  But  the  men  he  em- 
ployed to  turn  his  plans  into  tangible  models 
worked  slowly;  why  not  use  his  own  hands  for 
what  had  to  be  done!  • 

When  the  workmen  arrived  at  the  foundry  in 
the  morning  there  was  hammering  going  on  al- 
ready in  the  little  room.  And  when  they  left  in 
the  evening,  the  master  had  not  stopped  working 
yet.  "When  the  good  citizens  of  Ringeby  went  to 
bed,  they  would  look  out  of  their  windows  and  see 
his  light  still  burning. 

Peer  had  had  plenty  to  tire  him  out  even  be- 
fore he  began  work  here.  But  in  the  old  days  no 
one  had  ever  asked  if  he  felt  strong  enough  to  do 
this  or  that.  And  he  never  asked  himself.  Now, 
as  before,  it  was  a  question  of  getting  something 
done,  at  any  cost.  And  never  before  had  there 
been  so  much  at  stake. 

The  wooden  model  of  the  new  machine  is  finished 
already,  and  the  castings  put  together.  The  whole 
thing  looks  simple  enough,  and  yet — what  a  dis- 
tance from  the  first  rough  implement  to  this  thing, 

849 


250  The  Great  Hunger 

which  seems  almost  to  live — a  thing  with  a  brain 
of  metal  at  least.  Have  not  these  wheels  and  axles 
had  their  parents  and  ancestors — their  pedigree 
stretching  back  into  the  past?  The  steel  has 
brought  forth,  and  its  descendants  again  in 
turn,  advancing  always  toward  something  finer, 
stronger,  more  efficient.  And  here  is  the  last  stage 
reached  by  human  invention  in  this  particular 
work  up  to  now — yet,  after  all,  is  it  good  enough  T 
An  invention  successful  enough  to  bring  money 
in  to  the  inventor — that  is  not  all.  It  must  be 
more ;  it  must  be  a  world-success,  a  thing  to  make 
its  way  across  the  prairies,  across  the  enormous 
plains  of  India  and  Egypt — that  is  what  is  needed. 
Sleep?  rest?  food?  What  are  such  things  when  so 
much  is  at  stake ! 

There  was  no  longer  that  questioning  in  his  ear : 
Why?  Whither?  What  then?  Useless  to  ponder 
on  these  things.  His  horizon  was  narrowed  down 
to  include  nothing  beyond  this  one  problem.  Once 
he  had  dreamed  of  a  work  allied  to  his  dreams  of 
eternity.  This,  certainly,  was  not  it.  What  does 
the  gain  amount  to,  after  all,  when  humanity  has 
one  more  machine  added  to  it?  Does  it  kindle  a 
single  ray  of  dawn  the  more  in  a  human  soul? 

Yet  this  work,  such  as  it  was,  had  now  become 
his  all.  It  must  and  should  be  all.  He  was  fast 
bound  to  it. 

When  he  looked  up  at  the  window,  there  seemed 
to  be  faces  at  each  pane  staring  in.  "What?  Not 
finished  yet?"  they  seemed  to  say.  "Think  what 


The  Great  Hunger  251 

it  means  if  you  fail!"  Merle's  face,  and  the  chil- 
dren's :  "Must  we  be  driven  from  Loreng,  out  into 
the  cold?' '  The  faces  of  old  Uthoug  and  his  wife : 
"Was  it  for  this  you  came  into  an  honourable  fam- 
ily? To  bring  it  to  ruin?"  And  behind  them, 
swarming,  all  the  town.  All  knew  what  was  at 
stake,  and  why  he  was  toiling  so.  All  stared  at 
him,  waiting.  The  Bank  Manager  was  there  too — • 
waiting,  like  the  rest. 

One  can  seize  one's  neck  in  iron  pincers,  and 
say:  You  shall!  Tired?  difficulties?  time  too 
short? — all  that  doesn't  exist.  You  shall!  Is  this 
thing  or  that  impossible?  Well,  make  it  possible. 
It  is  your  business  to  make  it  possible. 

He  spent  but  little  time  at  home  now ;  a  sofa  in 
the  workshop  was  his  bed.  Often  Merle  would 
come  in  with  food  for  him,  and  seeing  how  pale 
and  grey  and  worn  out  he  was,  she  did  not  dare  to 
question  him.  She  tried  to  jest  instead.  She  had 
trained  herself  long  ago  to  be  gay  in  a  house  where 
shadows  had  to  be  driven  off  with  laughter. 

But  one  day,  as  she  was  leaving,  he  held  her 
back,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  smile. 

"Well,  dear?"  she  said,  with  a  questioning  look. 

He  stood  looking  at  her  as  before,  with  the  same 
far-off  smile.  He  was  looking  through  her  into 
the  little  world  she  stood  for.  This  home,  this 
family  that  he,  a  homeless  man,  had  won  through 
her,  was  it  all  to  go  down  in  shipwreck? 

Then  he  kissed  her  eyes  and  let  her  go. 

And  as  her  footsteps  died  away,  he  stood  a  mo- 


252  The  Great  Hunger 

ment,  moved  by  a  sudden  desire  to  turn  to  some 
Power  above  him  with  a  prayer  that  he  might 
succeed  in  this  work.  But  there  was  no  such 
Power.  And  in  the  end  his  eyes  turned  once  more 
to  the  iron,  the  fire,  his  tools,  and  his  own  hands, 
and  it  was  as  though  he  sighed  out  a  prayer  to 
these:  "Help  me — help  me,  that  I  may  save  my 
wife  and  children's  happiness." 

Sleep?  rest?  weariness?  He  had  only  a  year's 
grace.  The  bank  would  only  wait  a  year. 

Winter  and  spring  passed,  and  one  day  in  July 
he  came  home  and  rushed  in  upon  Merle  crying, 
"To-morrow,  Merle!  They  will  be  here  to-mor- 
row!" 

"Who?" 

"The  people  to  look  at  the  machine.  We're 
going  to  try  it  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  Peer!"  she  said  breathlessly,  gazing  at 
him. 

"It's  a  good  thing  that  I  had  connections 
abroad,"  he  went  on.  "There's  one  man  coming 
from  an  English  firm,  and  another  from  America. 
It  ought  to  be  a  big  business." 

The  morrow  came.  Merle  stood  looking  after 
her  husband  as  he  drove  off,  his  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  through  the  haze  that  followed  the 
night's  rain.  But  there  was  no  time  to  stand 
trembling;  they  were  to  have  the  strangers  to 
dinner,  and  she  must  see  to  it. 

Out  in  the  field  the  machine  stood  ready,  a  slen- 


The  Great  Hunger  253 

der,  newly  painted  thing.  A  boy  was  harnessing 
the  horses. 

Two  men  in  soft  hats  and  light  overcoats  came 
up;  it  was  old  Uthoug,  and  the  Bank  Manager. 
They  stopped  and  looked  round,  leaning  on  their 
sticks;  the  results  of  the  day  were  not  a  matter 
of  entire  indifference  to  these  two  gentlemen.  Ah  I 
here  was  the  big  carriage  from  Loreng,  with  the 
two  strangers  and  Peer  himself,  who  had  been 
down  to  fetch  them  from  the  hotel. 

He  was  a  little  pale  as  he  took  the  reins  and 
climbed  to  his  seat  on  the  machine,  to  drive  it  him- 
self through  the  meadow  of  high,  thick  timothy- 
grass. 

The  horses  pricked  up  their  ears  and  tried  to 
break  into  a  gallop,  the  noise  of  the  machine  be- 
hind them  startling  them  as  usual  at  first,  but  they 
soon  settled  down  to  a  steady  pace,  and  the  steel 
arm  bearing  the  shears  swept  a  broad  swath 
through  the  meadow,  where  the  grass  stood  shin- 
ing after  the  rain. 

The  two  strangers  walked  slowly  in  the  rear, 
bending  down  now  and  again  to  look  at  the  stub- 
ble, and  see  if  the  shears  cut  clean.  The  tall  man 
with  the  heavy  beard  and  pince-nez  was  the  agent 
for  John  Fowler  of  Leeds ;  the  little  clean-shaven 
one  with  the  Jewish  nose  represented  Harrow  & 
Co.  of  Philadelphia. 

Now  and  again  they  called  to  Peer  to  stop,  while 
they  investigated  some  part  of  the  machine. 

They  asked  him  then  to  try  it  on  different 


254  The  Great  Hunger 

ground ;  on  an  uneven  slope,  over  little  tussocks ; 
and  at  last  the  agent  for  Fowler 's  would  have  it 
that  it  should  be  tried  on  a  patch  of  stony  ground. 
But  that  would  spoil  the  shears  ?  Very  likely,  but 
Fowler's  would  like  to  know  exactly  how  the 
shears  were  affected  by  stones  on  the  ground. 

At  last  the  trials  were  over,  and  the  visitors 
nodded  thoughtfully  to  each  other.  Evidently  they 
had  come  on  something  new  here.  There  were  pos- 
sibilities in  the  thing  that  might  drive  most  other 
types  out  of  the  field,  even  in  the  intense  compe* 
tition  that  rages  all  round  the  world  in  agricul- 
tural machinery. 

Peer  read  the  expression  in  their  eyes — these 
cold-blooded  specialists  had  seen  the  vision;  they 
had  seen  gold. 

But  all  the  same  there  was  a  hitch — a  little 
hitch. 

Dinner  was  over,  the  visitors  had  left,  and  Merle 
and  Peer  were  alone.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his 
inquiringly. 

"It  went  off  well  then?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  But  there  is  just  one  little  thing  to  put 
right." 

"Still  something  to  put  right — after  you  have 
worked  so  hard  all  these  months  I ' '  She  sat  down, 
and  her  hands  dropped  into  her  lap. 

"It's  only  a  small  detail,"  he  said  eagerly,  pac- 
ing up  and  down.  "When  the  grass  is  wet,  it 
sticks  between  the  steel  fingers  above  the  shears 
accumulates  there  and  gets  in  the  way.  It's 


The  Great  Hunger  255 

the  devil  and  all  that  I  never  thought  of  testing  it 
myself  in  wet  weather.  But  once  I've  got  that 
right,  my  girl,  the  thing  will  be  a  world-success." 

Once  more  the  machine  was  set  up  in  his  work- 
shop, and  he  walked  around  it,  watching,  spying, 
thinking,  racking  his  brain  to  find  the  little  device 
that  should  make  all  well.  All  else  was  finished, 
all  was  right,  but  he  still  lacked  the  single  happy 
thought,  the  flash  of  inspiration — that  given,  a 
moment's  work  would  be  enough  to  give  this  thing 
of  steel  life,  and  wings  with  which  to  fly  out  over 
the  wide  world. 

It  might  come  at  any  moment,  that  happy 
thought.  And  he  tramped  round  and  round  his 
machine,  clenching  his  fists  in  desperation  because 
it  was  so  slow  in  coming. 

The  last  touch  only,  the  dot  upon  an  i,  was  want- 
ing. A  slight  change  in  the  shape  or  position  of 
the  fingers,  or  the  length  of  the  shears — what  was 
it  he  wanted!  How  could  he  sleep  that  night? 

He  felt  that  he  stood  face  to  face  with  a  diffi- 
culty that  could  have  been  easily  solved  had  he 
come  fresh  to  the  work,  but  that  his  tortured  brain 
was  too  worn  out  to  overcome. 

But  when  an  Arab  horse  is  ready  to  drop  with 
fatigue,  then  is  the  time  when  it  breaks  into  a 
gallop. 

He  could  not  wait.  There  were  the  faces  at  the 
window  again,  staring  and  asking:  "Not  finished 
yet ! ' '  Merle,  the  children,  Uthoug  and  his  wife, 
the  Bank  Manager.  And  there  were  his  com- 


256  The  Great  Hunger 

petitors  the  world  over.  To-day  lie  was  a  length 
ahead  of  them,  but  by  to-morrow  he  might  be  left 
behind.  Wait?  Best?  No! 

It  was  autumn  now,  and  sleepless  nights  drove 
him  to  a  doctor,  who  prescribed  cold  baths,  per- 
fect quiet,  sleeping  draughts,  iron  and  arsenic.  Ah, 
yes.  Peer  could  swallow  all  the  prescriptions — • 
the  one  thing  he  could  not  do  was  rest  or  sleep. 

He  would  sit  late  into  the  night,  prostrate  with 
exhaustion,  watching  the  dying  embers  of  the 
forge,  the  steel,  the  tools.  And  innumerable  sparks 
would  begin  to  fly  before  his  eyes,  and  masses  of 
molten  iron  to  creep  about  like  living  things  over 
walls  and  floor. — And  over  by  the  forge  was  some- 
thing more  defined,  a  misty  shape,  that  grew  in 
size  and  clearness  and  stood  at  last  a  bearded^ 
naked  demigod,  with  fire  in  one  hand  and  sledge- 
hammer in  the  other. 

"What!   "Who  is  that!" 

"Man,  do  you  not  know  me!" 

"Who  are  you,  I  ask?" 

"I  have  a  thing  to  tell  you :  it  is  vain  for  you  to 
seek  for  any  other  faith  than  faith  in  the  evolution 
of  the  universe.  It  will  do  no  good  to  pray.  You 
may  dream  yourself  away  from  the  steel  and  the 
fire,  but  you  must  offer  yourself  up  to  them  at 
last.  You  are  bound  fast  to  these  things.  Out- 
side them  your  soul  is  nothing.  God?  happiness! 
yourself!  eternal  life  for  you?  All  these  are  noth- 
ing. The  will  of  the  world  rolls  on  towards  its 


The  Great  Hunger  257 

eternal  goal,  and  the  individual  is  but  fuel  for  the 
fire." 

Peer  would  spring  up,  believing  for  a  moment 
that  someone  was  really  there.  But  there  was 
nothing,  only  the  empty  air. 

Now  and  again  he  would  go  home  to  Loreng,  but 
everything  there  seemed  to  pass  in  a  mist.  He 
could  see  that  Merle's  eyes  were  red,  though  she 
sang  cheerily  as  she  went  about  the  house.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  had  begged  him  to  go  to 
bed  and  rest,  and  he  had  gone  to  bed.  It  would 
be  delicious  to  sleep.  But  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  the  fault  lay 
in  the  shape  of  the  shears  after  all,  and  then  there 
was  no  stopping  him  from  getting  up  and  hurrying 
in  to  the  workshop.  Winter  has  come  round  again, 
and  he  fights  his  way  in  through  a  snow-storm. 
And  in  the  quiet  night  he  lights  his  lamp,  kindles 
the  forge  fire,  screws  off  the  blades  of  the  shears 
once  more.  But  when  he  has  altered  them  and 
fixed  them  in  place  again,  he  knows  at  once  that 
the  defect  was  not  in  them  after  all. 

Coffee  is  a  good  thing  for  keeping  the  brain 
clear.  He  took  to  making  it  in  the  workshop  for 
himself — and  at  night  especially  a  few  cups  did 
him  good.  They  were  so  satisfying  too,  that  he 
felt  no  desire  for  food.  And  when  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  best  thing  would  be  to 
make  each  separate  part  of  the  machine  over  again 
anew,  coffee  was  n,  great  help,  keeping  him  awake 
through  many  a  long  night. 


258  The  Great  Hunger 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  Merle  and  his 
father-in-law  and  the  Bank  Manager  had  taken  to 
lurking  about  the  place  night  and  day,  watching 
and  spying  to  see  if  the  work  were  not  nearly  done. 
Why  in  the  devil's  name  could  they  not  leave  him 
in  peace — just  one  week  more?  In  any  case,  the 
machine  could  not  be  tried  before  next  summer. 
At  times  the  workers  at  the  foundry  would  be 
startled  by  their  master  suddenly  rushing  out 
from  his  inner  room  and  crying  fiercely :  "No  one 
is  to  come  in  here.  I  will  be  left  in  peace !" 

And  when  he  had  gone  in  again,  they  would  look 
at  each  other  and  shake  their  heads. 

One  morning  Merle  came  down  and  walked 
through  the  outer  shops,  and  knocked  at  the  door 
of  her  husband's  room.  There  was  no  answer; 
and  she  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

A  moment  after,  the  workmen  heard  a  woman's 
shriek,  and  when  they  ran  in  she  was  bending 
over  her  husband,  who  was  seated  on  the  floor, 
staring  up  at  her  with  blank,  uncomprehending 
eyes. 

"Peer,"  she  cried,  shaking  his  shoulder — "Peer, 
do  you  hear!  Oh,  for  God's  sake — what  is  it,  my 
darling " 

One  April  day  there  was  a  stir  in  the  little  town 
of  Eingeby,  and  a  stream  of  people,  all  in  their  best 
clothes  (though  it  was  only  Wednesday),  was  mov- 
ing out  along  the  fjord  road  to  Loreng.  There 
were  the  two  editors,  who  had  just  settled  one  of 


The  Great  Hunger  259 

their  everlasting  disputes,  and  the  two  lawyers, 
each  still  intent  on  snatching  any  scraps  of  busi- 
ness that  offered ;  there  were  tradesmen  and  arti- 
sans; and  nearly  everyone  was  wearing  a  long 
overcoat  and  a  grey  felt  hat.  But  the  tanner  had 
put  on  a  high  silk  hat,  so  as  to  look  a  little  taller. 

Where  the  road  left  the  wood  most  of  them 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  look  up  at  Loreng.  The 
great  white  house  seemed  to  have  set  itself  high 
on  its  hill  to  look  out  far  and  wide  over  the  lake 
and  the  country  round.  And  men  talked  of  the 
great  doings,  the  feasting  and  magnificence,  the 
great  house  had  seen  in  days  gone  by,  from  the 
time  when  the  place  had  been  a  Governor's  resi- 
dence until  a  few  years  back,  when  Engineer  Holm 
was  in  his  glory. 

But  to-day  the  place  was  up  to  auction,  with 
stock  and  furniture,  and  people  had  walked  or 
driven  over  from  far  around.  For  the  bank  man- 
agement felt  they  would  not  be  justified  in  giving 
any  longer  grace,  now  that  Peer  Holm  was  lying 
sick  in  hospital,  and  no  doctor  would  undertake 
to  say  whether  he  would  ever  be  fit  to  work  again. 

The  courtyard  was  soon  crowded.  Inside,  in  the 
great  hall,  the  auctioneer  was  beginning  to  put  up 
the  lots  already,  but  most  people  hung  back  a  lit- 
tle, as  if  they  felt  a  reluctance  to  go  in.  For  the 
air  in  there  seemed  charged  with  lingering  mem- 
ories of  splendour  and  hospitality,  from  the  days 
when  cavaliers  with  ruffles  and  golden  spurs  had 
done  homage  there  to  ladies  in  sweeping  silk  robes 


260  The  Great  Hunger 

— down  to  the  last  gay  banquets  to  which  the  fa- 
mous engineer  from  Egypt  had  loved  to  gather  all 
the  gentry  round  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity. 

Most  of  the  people  stood  on  the  steps  and  in 
the  entrance-hall.  And  now  and  again  they  would 
catch  a  glimpse  of  a  pale  woman,  dressed  in  black, 
with  thick  dark  eyebrows,  crossing  the  courtyard 
to  a  servant's  house  or  a  storehouse  to  give  some 
order  for  moving  the  things.  It  was  Merle,  now 
mistress  here  no  longer. 

Old  Lorentz  D.  Uthoug  met  his  sister,  the  mighty 
lady  of  Bruseth,  on  the  steps.  She  looked  at  him, 
and  there  was  a  gleam  of  derision  in  her  nar- 
rowed eyes.  But  he  drew  himself  up,  and  said  as 
he  passed  her,  "You've  nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 
I've  settled  things  so  that  I'm  not  bankrupt  yet. 
And  you  shall  have  your  share — in  full. ' ' 

And  he  strode  in,  a  broad-shouldered,  upright 
figure,  looking  calmly  at  all  men,  that  all  might  see 
he  was  not  the  man  to  be  crushed  by  a  reverse. 

Late  in  the  day  the  chestnut,  Bijou,  was  put  up 
for  sale.  He  was  led  across  the  courtyard  in  a 
halter,  and  as  he  came  he  stopped  for  a  moment, 
and  threw  up  his  head,  and  neighed,  and  from  the 
stables  the  other  horses  neighed  in  answer.  Was 
it  a  farewell  I  Did  he  remember  the  day,  years 
ago,  when  he  had  come  there  first,  dancing  on  his 
white-stockinged  feet,  full  of  youth  and  strength? 

But  by  the  woodshed  there  stood  as  usual  a  lit- 
tle grey  old  man,  busy  sawing  and  chopping,  as 
if  nothing  at  all  was  the  matter.  One  master  left, 


The  Great  Hunger  261 

another  took  his  place;  one  needed  firewood,  it 
seemed  to  him,  as  much  as  the  other.  And  if  they 
came  and  gave  him  notice — why,  thank  the  Lord, 
he  was  stone  deaf.  Thud,  thud,  the  sound  of  the 
axe  went  on. 

A  young  man  came  driving  up  the  hill,  a  florid- 
faced  young  man,  with  very  blue  eyes.  He  took  off 
his  overcoat  in  the  passage,  revealing  a  long  black 
frock  coat  beneath  and  a  large-patterned  waist- 
coat. It  was  Uthoug  junior,  general  agent  for 
English  tweeds.  He  had  taken  no  part  in  his 
brother-in-law's  business  affairs,  and  so  he  was 
able  to  help  his  father  in  this  crisis. 

But  the  auction  at  Loreng  went  on  for  several 
days. 


BOOK  111 


Chapter  I 

ONCE  more  a  deep  valley,  with  sun-steeped  farms 
on  the  hillsides  between  the  river  and  the  moun- 
tain-range behind. 

One  day  about  midsummer  it  was  old  Raastad 
himself  that  came  down  to  meet  the  train,  driving 
a  spring-cart,  with  a  waggon  following  behind. 
Was  he  expecting  visitors?  the  people  at  the  sta- 
tion asked  him.  " Maybe  I  am,"  said  old  Eaastad, 
stroking  his  heavy  beard,  and  he  limped  about 
looking  to  his  horses.  Was  it  the  folk  who  had 
taken  the  Court-house?  "Ay,  it's  likely  them," 
said  the  old  man. 

The  train  came  in,  and  a  pale  man,  with  grey 
hair  and  beard,  and  blue  spectacles,  stepped  out, 
and  he  had  a  wife  and  three  children  with  him. 
"Paul  Raastad?"  inquired  the  stranger.  "Ay, 
that 's  me, ' '  said  the  old  man.  The  stranger  looked 
up  at  the  great  mountains  to  the  north,  rising  diz- 
zily into  the  sky.  "The  air  ought  to  be  good  here," 
said  he.  "Ay,  the  air's  good  enough,  by  all  ac- 
counts," said  Raastad,  and  began  loading  up  the 
carts. 

They  drove  off  up  the  hill  road.  The  man  and 
his  wife  sat  in  the  spring-cart,  the  woman  with  a 
child  in  her  lap,  but  a  boy  and  a  girl  were  seated 

265 


266  The  Great  Hunger 

on  the  load  in  the  baggage-waggon  behind  Eaastad. 
"Can  we  see  the  farm  from  here?"  asked  the 
woman,  turning  her  head.  "There,"  said  the  old 
man,  pointing.  And  looking,  they  saw  a  big  farm- 
stead high  up  on  a  sunny  hill-slope,  close  under 
the  crest,  and  near  by  a  long  low  house  with  a 
steep  slate  roof,  the  sort  of  place  where  the  dis- 
trict officers  used  to  live  in  old  days.  "Is  that 
the  house  we  are  to  live  in?"  she  asked  again. 
"Ay,  that's  it,  right  enough,"  said  old  Eaastad, 
and  chirruped  to  his  horses. 

The  woman  looked  long  at  the  farm  and  sighed. 
So  this  was  to  be  their  new  home.  They  were  to 
live  here,  far  from  all  their  friends.  And  would  it 
give  him  back  his  health,  after  all  the  doctors' 
medicines  had  failed? 

A  Lapland  dog  met  them  at  the  gate  and  barked 
at  them;  a  couple  of  pigs  came  down  the  road, 
stopped  and  studied  the  new  arrivals  with  pro- 
found attention,  then  wheeled  suddenly  and  gal- 
loped off  among  the  houses. 

The  farmer's  wife  herself  was  waiting  outside 
the  Court-house,  a  tall  wrinkled  woman  with  a 
black  cap  on  her  head.  "Welcome,"  she  said,  of- 
fering a  rough  and  bony  hand. 

The  house  was  one  of  large  low-ceiled  rooms, 
with  big  stoves  that  would  need  a  deal  of  firewood 
in  winter.  The  furniture  was  a  mixture  of  every 
possible  sort  and  style:  a  mahogany  sofa,  cup- 
boards with  painted  roses  on  the  panels,  chairs 
covered  with  "Old  Norse"  carving,  and  on  the 


The  Great  Hunger  267 

walls  appalling  pictures  of  foreign  royal  families 
and  of  the  Crucifixion.  "Good  Heavens!"  said 
Merle,  as  they  went  round  the  rooms  alone:  "how 
shall  we  ever  get  used  to  all  this  ? '  * 

But  just  then  Louise  came  rushing  in,  breath- 
less with  news,  "Mother — father — there  are  goats 
here  I"  And  little  Lorentz  came  toddling  in  after 
her:  "Goats,  mother,"  he  cried,  stumbling  over 
the  doorstep. 

The  old  house  had  stood  empty  and  dead  for 
years.  Now  it  seemed  to  have  wakened  up  again. 
Footsteps  went  in  and  out,  and  the  stairs  creaked 
once  more  under  the  tread  of  feet,  small,  patter- 
ing, exploring  feet,  and  big  feet  going  about  on 
grown-up  errands.  There  was  movement  in  every 
corner:  a  rattle  of  pots  and  pans  in  the  kitchen; 
fires  blazed  up,  and  smoke  began  to  rise  from  the 
chimney;  people  passing  by  outside  looked  up  at 
it  and  saw  that  the  dead  old  house  had  come  to 
life  again. 

Peer  was  weak  still  after  his  illness,  but  he  could 
help  a  little  with  the  unpacking.  It  took  very  lit- 
tle, though,  to  make  him  out  of  breath  and  giddy, 
and  there  was  a  sledge-hammer  continually 
thumping  somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  head.  Sup- 
pose— suppose,  after  all,  the  change  here  does  you 
no  good?  You  are  at  the  last  stage.  You've  man- 
aged to  borrow  the  money  to  keep  you  all  here 
for  a  year.  And  then?  Your  wife  and  children! 
Hush! — better  not  think  of  that.  Not  that;  think 
of  anything  else,  only  not  that. 


268  The  Great  Hunger 

Clothes  to  be  carried  upstairs.  Yes,  yes — and 
to  think  it  was  all  to  end  in  your  living  on  other 
people's  charity.  Even  that  can't  go  on  long.  If 
you  should  be  no  better  next  summer — or  two 
years  hence? — what  then?  For  yourself — yes, 
there's  always  one  way  out  for  you.  But  Merle 
and  the  children?  Hush,  don't  think  of  it!  Once 
it  was  your  whole  duty  to  finish  a  certain  piece  of 
work  in  a  certain  time.  Now  it  is  your  duty  to  get 
well  again,  to  be  as  strong  as  a  horse  by  next  year. 
It  is  your  duty.  If  only  the  sledge-hammer  would 
stop,  that  cursed  sledge-hammer  in  the  back  of 
your  head. 

Merle,  as  she  went  out  and  in,  was  thinking  per- 
haps of  the  same  thing,  but  her  head  was  full  of 
so  much  else — getting  things  in  order  and  the 
household  set  going.  Food  had  to  be  bought  from 
the  local  shop ;  and  how  many  litres  of  milk  would 
she  require  in  the  morning?  Where  could  she  get 
eggs?  She  must  go  across  at  once  to  the  Raastads' 
and  ask.  So  the  pale  woman  in  the  dark  dress 
walked  slowly  with  bowed  head  across  the  court- 
yard. But  when  she  stopped  to  speak  to  people 
about  the  place,  they  would  forget  their  manners 
and  stare  at  her,  she  smiled  so  strangely. 

" Father,  there's  a  box  of  starlings  on  the  wall 
here, ' '  said  Louise  as  she  lay  in  bed  with  her  arms 
round  Peer's  neck  saying  good-night.  "And 
there's  a  swallow's  nest  under  the  eaves  too." 

"Oh,  yes,  we'll  have  great  fun  at  Eaastad — just 
you  wait  and  see." 


The  Great  Hunger  269 

Soon  Merle  and  Peer  too  lay  in  their  strange 
beds,  looking  out  at  the  luminous  summer  night. 

They  were  shipwrecked  people  washed  ashore 
here.  But  it  was  not  so  clear  that  they  were 
saved. 

Peer  turned  restlessly  from  side  to  side.  He 
was  so  worn  to  skin  and  bone  that  his  nerves 
seemed  laid  bare,  and  he  could  not  rest  in  any 
position.  Also  there  were  three  hundred  wheels 
whirring  in  his  head,  and  striking  out  sparks  that 
flew  up  and  turned  to  visions. 

Best?  why  had  he  never  been  content  to  rest 
in  the  days  when  all  went  well? 

He  had  made  his  mark  at  the  First  Cataract, 
yes,  and  had  made  big  sums  of  money  out  of  his 
new  pump ;  but  all  the  time  there  were  the  gnawing 
questions:  Why?  and  whither?  and  what  then? 
He  had  been  Chief  Engineer  and  had  built  a  rail- 
way, and  could  have  had  commissions  to  build 
more  railways — but  again  the  questions:  Why? 
and  what  then?  Home,  then,  home  and  strike  root 
in  his  native  land — well,  and  had  that  brought  him 
rest?  "What  was  it  that  drove  him  away  again? 
The  steel,  the  steel  and  the  fire. 

Ah!  that  day  when  he  had  stepped  down  from 
the  mowing  machine  and  had  been  ensnared  by 
the  idea  of  improving  it.  Why  had  he  ever  taken 
it  up?  Did  he  need  money?  No.  Or  was  the 
work  at  a  standstill?  No.  But  the  steel  would 
on;  it  had  need  of  a  man;  it  had  taken  him  by 
the  throat  and  said,  "You  shall  1" 


270  The  Great  Hunger 

Happiness?  Best?  Ah  no!  For,  you  see,  a 
stored-up  mass  of  knowledge  and  experience  turns 
one  fine  day  into  an  army  of  evil  powers,  that  lash 
you  on  and  on,  unceasingly.  You  may  stumble, 
you  may  fall — what  does  it  matter?  The  steel 
squeezes  one  man  dry,  and  then  grips  the  next. 
The  flame  of  the  world  has  need  of  fuel — bow  thy 
head,  Man,  and  leap  into  the  fire. 

To-day  you  prosper — to-morrow  you  are  cast 
down  into  a  hell  on  earth.  What  matter?  You 
are  fuel  for  the  fire. 

But  I  will  not,  I  will  not  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
flame  of  the  world,  even  though  it  be  the  only  god- 
head in  the  universe.  I  will  tear  myself  loose,  be 
something  in  and  for  myself.  I  will  have  an  im- 
mortal soul.  The  world-transformation  that  prog- 
ress may  have  wrought  a  thousand  years  hence — 
what  is  it  to  me? 

Your  soul?  Just  think  of  all  your  noble  feelings 
towards  that  true-born  half-brother  of  yours — ha- 
ha-ha!  Shakespeare  was  wrong.  It's  the  bastard 
that  gets  cheated. 

"Dearest  Peer,  do,  for  God's  sake,  try  to  get  to 
sleep. ' ' 

"Oh  yes.  I'll  get  to  sleep  all  right.  But  it's  so 
hot."  He  threw  off  the  clothes  and  lay  breathing 
heavily. 

"I'm  sure  you're  lying  thinking  and  brooding 
over  things.  Can't  you  do  what  the  Swedish  doc- 
tor told  you — just  try  to  think  that  everything  is 
dark  all  round  yon.1' 


The  Great  Hunger  271 

Peer  turns  round,  and  everything  around  him 
is  dark.  But  in  the  heart  of  that  darkness  waves 
arise,  waves  of  melody,  rolling  nearer,  nearer.  It 
is  the  sound  of  a  hymn — it  is  Louise  standing 
playing,  his  sister  Louise.  And  what  peace — 0 
God,  what  peace  and  rest! 

But  soon  Louise  fades  away,  she  fades  away, 
and  vanishes  like  a  flame  blown  out.  And  there 
comes  a  roaring  noise,  nearer  and  nearer,  grind- 
ing, crashing,  rattling — and  he  knows  now  what  It 
is  only  too  well :  it  is  the  song  of  the  steel. 

The  roar  of  steel  from  ships  and  from  railway- 
trains,  with  their  pairs  of  yellow  evil  eyes,  rush- 
ing on,  full  of  human  captives,  whither?  Faster, 
faster — driven  by  competition,  by  the  steel  demon 
that  hunts  men  on  without  rest  or  respite — that 
hurries  on  the  pulse  of  the  world  to  fever,  to 
hallucination,  to  madness. 

Crashing  of  steel  girders  falling,  the  hum  of 
wheels,  the  clash  of  cranes  and  winches  and  chains, 
the  clang  of  steam-hammers  at  work — all  are  in 
that  roar.  The  fire  flares  up  with  hellish  eyes  in 
every  dark  corner,  and  men  swarm  around  in  the 
red  glow  like  evil  angels.  They  are  the  slaves  of 
steel  and  fire,  lashed  onwards,  never  resting. 

Is  this  the  spirit  of  Prometheus  ?  Look,  the  will 
of  steel  is  flinging  men  up  into  the  air  now.  It  is 
conquering  the  heavens.  Why?  That  it  may  rush 
the  faster.  It  craves  for  yet  more  speed,  quicker, 
quicker,  dizzier  yet,  hurrying — wherefore? — 
whither?  Alas !  it  knows  not  itself. 


272  The  Great  Hunger 

Are  the  children  of  the  earth  grown  so  home- 
less! Do  they  fear  to  take  a  moment's  rest?  Do 
they  dread  to  look  inward  and  see  their  own  empti- 
ness! Are  they  longing  for  something  they  have 
lost — some  hymn,  some  harmony,  some  God! 

God!  They  find  a  bloodthirsty  Jehovah,  and  an 
ascetic  on  the  cross.  What  gods  are  these  for  mod- 
ern men!  Religious  history,  not  religion. 

"Peer,"  says  Merle  again,  "for  God's  sake  try 
to  sleep." 

"Merle,  do  yon  think  I  shall  get  well  here!" 

"Why,  don't  you  feel  already  how  splendid  the 
air  is  !  Of  course  you  '11  get  well. ' ' 

He  twined  his  fingers  into  hers,  and  at  last  the 
sound  of  Louise's  hymn  came  to  him  once  more, 
lifting  and  rocking  him  gently  till  his  eyes  closed. 


Chapter  II 

A  LITTLE  road  winds  in  among  the  woods,  two 
wheel-tracks  only,  with  a  carpet  of  brown  pine- 
needles  between ;  but  there  are  trees  and  the  sky, 
quiet  and  peace,  so  that  it's  a  real  blessing  to  walk 
there.  It  rises  and  falls  so  gently,  that  no  one 
need  get  out  of  breath ;  indeed,  it  seems  to  go  along 
with  one  all  the  time,  in  mere  friendliness,  whis- 
pering: "Take  it  easy.  Take  your  time.  Have  a 
good  rest  here."  And  so  on  it  goes,  winding  in 
among  the  tree-trunks,  slender  and  supple  as  a 
young  girl. 

Peer  walked  here  every  day.  He  would  stop  and 
look  up  into  the  tops  of  the  fir  trees,  and  walk  on 
again;  then  sit  down  for  a  moment  on  a  mossy 
stone ;  but  only  for  a  moment — always  he  was  up 
again  soon  and  moving  on,  though  he  had  nowhere 
to  go.  But  at  least  there  was  peace  here.  He 
would  linger  watching  an  insect  as  it  crept  along 
a  fir  branch,  or  listening  to  the  murmur  of  the 
river  in  the  valley  far  below,  or  breathing  in  the 
health-giving  scent  of  the  resin,  thick  in  the  warm 
air. 

This  present  life  of  his  was  one  way  of  living. 
As  he  lay,  after  a  sleepless  night,  watching  the 
window  grow  lighter  with  the  dawn,  he  would 

971 


274  The  Great  Hunger 

think :  Yet  another  new  day — and  nothing  that  I 
can  do  in  it. 

And  yet  he  had  to  get  up,  and  dress,  and  go 
down  and  eat.  His  bread  had  a  slightly  bitter 
taste  to  him — it  tasted  of  charity  and  dependence, 
of  the  rich  widow  at  Brnseth  and  the  agent  for 
English  tweeds.  And  he  must  remember  to  eat 
slowly,  to  masticate  each  mouthful  carefully,  to 
rest  after  meals,  and  above  all  not  to  think — not 
to  think  of  anything  in  the  wide  world.  After- 
wards, he  could  go  out  and  in  like  other  people, 
only  that  all  his  movements  and  actions  were  use- 
less and  meaningless  in  themselves;  they  were 
done  only  for  the  sake  of  health,  or  to  keep 
thoughts  away,  or  to  make  the  time  go  by. 

How  had  this  come  to  pass?  He  found  it  still 
impossible  to  grasp  how  such  senseless  things  can 
happen  and  no  Providence  interfere  to  set  them 
right.  Why  should  he  have  been  so  suddenly 
doomed  to  destruction?  Days,  weeks  and  months 
of  his  best  manhood  oozing  away  into  empty  noth- 
ingness^— why?  Sleeplessness  and  tortured  nerves 
drove  him  to  do  things  that  his  will  disowned ;  he 
would  storm  at  his  wife  and  children  if  a  heel  so 
much  as  scraped  on  the  floor,  and  the  remorse  that 
followed,  sometimes  ending  in  childish  tears,  did 
10  good,  for  the  next  time  the  same  thing,  or  worse, 
would  happen  again.  This  was  the  burden  of  his 
days.  This  was  the  life  he  was  doomed  to  live. 

But  up  here  on  the  little  forest  track  he  harms 
no  one;  and  no  racking  noises  come  thrusting 


The  Great  Hunger  275 

sharp  knives  into  Ms  spine.  Here  is  a  great  peace ; 
a  peace  that  does  a  man  good.  Down  on  the  grassy 
slope  below  stands  a  tumble-down  grey  barn;  it  re- 
minds him  of  an  old  worn-out  horse,  lifting  its 
head  from  grazing  to  gaze  at  you — a  lonely  for- 
saken creature  it  seems — to-morrow  it  will  sink  to 
the  ground  and  rise  no  more — yet  it  takes  its  lot 
calmly  and  patiently. 

Ugh!  how  far  he  has  got  from  Eaastad.  A 
cold  sweat  breaks  out  over  his  body  for  fear  he 
may  not  have  strength  to  walk  back  again  uphill. 
Well,  pull  yourself  together.  Rest  a  little.  And 
he  lies  down  on  his  back  in  a  field  of  clover,  and 
stares  up  at  the  sky. 

A  stream  of  clean  air,  fresh  from  the  snow,  flows 
all  day  long  down  the  valley;  as  if  Jotunheim  it- 
self, where  it  lies  in  there  beneath  the  sky,  were 
breathing  in  easy  well-being.  Peer  fills  his  lungs 
again  and  again  with  long  deep  draughts,  drinking 
in  the  air  like  a  saving  potion.  * '  Ilelp  me  then,  oh 
air,  light,  solitude!  help  me  that  I  may  be  whole 
once  more  and  fit  to  work,  for  this  is  the  one  and 
only  religion  left  me  to  cling  to." 

High  above,  over  the  two  mountain  ranges,  a 
blue  flood  stands  immovable,  and  in  its  depths 
eternal  rest  is  brooding.  But  is  there  a  will  there 
too,  that  is  concerned  with  men  on  earth?  You 
do  not  believe  in  it,  and  yet  a  little  prayer  mounts 
up  to  it  as  well !  Help  me — thoutoo.  Who?  Thou 
that  nearest.  If  Thou  care  at  all  for  the  miserable 
things  called  men  that  crawl  upon  the  earth-^ 


276  The  Great  Hunger 

help  me !  If  I  once  prayed  for  a  great  work  that 
could  stay  my  hunger  for  things  eternal,  I  repent 
me  now  and  confess  that  it  was  pride  and  vanity. 
Make  me  a  slave,  toiling  at  servile  tasks  for  food, 
so  that  Merle  and  the  children  be  not  taken  from 
me.  Hearest  Thou? 

Does  anyone  in  heaven  find  comfort  in  seeing 
men  tortured  by  blind  fortune?  Are  my  wife  and 
my  children  slaves  of  an  unmeaning  chance — and 
yet  can  smile  and  laugh?  Answer  me,  if  Thou 
hearest — Thou  of  the  many  names. 

A  grasshopper  is  shrilling  in  the  grass  about 
him.  Suddenly  he  starts  up  sitting.  A  railway- 
train  goes  screaming  past  below. 

And  so  the  days  go  on. 

Each  morning  Merle  would  steal  a  glance  at  her 
husband's  face,  to  see  if  he  had  slept;  if  his  eyes 
were  dull,  or  inflamed,  or  calm.  Surely  he  must 
be  better  soon!  Surely  their  stay  here  must  do 
him  good.  She  too  had  lost  faith  in  medicines, 
but  this  air,  the  country  life,  the  solitude — rest, 
rest — surely  there  must  soon  be  some  sign  that 
these  were  helping  him. 

Many  a  time  she  rose  in  the  morning  without 
having  closed  her  eyes  all  night.  But  there  were 
the  children  to  look  after,  the  house  to  see  to,  and 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  get  on  without  a  maid 
if  she  possibly  could. 

"What  has  taken  you  over  to  the  farm  so  much 
lately?"  she  asked  one  day.  "You  have  been  sit- 


The  Great  Hunger  277 

ting  over  there  with  old  Eaastad  for  hours  to- 
gether." 

"I — I  go  over  to  amuse  myself  and  pass  the 
time,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  talk  politics!" 

"No — we  play  cards.  Why  do  you  look  at  me 
like  that?" 

"You  never  cared  for  cards  before." 

"No;  but  what  the  devil  am  I  to  do?  I  can't 
read,  because  of  these  cursed  eyes  of  mine — and 
the  hammering  in  my  head.  .  .  .  And  I've  counted 
all  the  farms  up  and  down  the  valley  now.  There 
are  fifty  in  all.  And  on  the  farm  here  there  are 
just  twenty-one  houses,  big  and  little.  What  the 
devil  am  I  to  take  to  next  ? ' ' 

Merle  sighed.  "It  is  hard,"  she  said.  "But 
couldn't  you  wait  till  the  evening  to  play  cards — 
till  the  children  are  in  bed — then  I  could  play  with 
you.  That  would  be  better." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  But  what  about  the 
rest  of  the  day?  Do  you  know  what  it's  like  to  go 
about  from  dawn  to  dark  feeling  that  every  minute 
is  wasted,  and  wasted  for  nothing?  No,  you  can't 
know  it.  What  am  I  to  do  with  myself  all  through 
one  of  these  endless,  deadly  days?  Drink  myself 
drunk?" 

* '  Couldn  't  you  try  cutting  firewood  for  a  little  ? ' ' 

"Firewood?"      He    whistled    softly.      "Well, 
that's  an  idea.    Ye — yes.    Let's  try  chopping  fire- 
wood for  a  change." 
,  thud,  thud! 


278  The  Great  Hunger 

But  as  he  straightened  his  back  for  a  breathing- 
space,  the  whirr,  whirr  of  Raastad's  mowing  ma- 
chine came  to  him  from  the  hill-slope  near  by 
where  it  was  working,  and  he  clenched  his  teeth 
as  if  they  ached.  He  was  driving  a  mowing  ma- 
chine of  his  own  invention,  and  it  was  raining  con- 
tinually, and  the  grass  kept  sticking,  sticking — 
and  how  to  put  it  right — put  it  right?  It  was  as  if 
blows  were  falling  on  festering  wounds  in  his  head, 
making  him  dance  with  pain.  Thud,  thud,  thudl 
— anything  to  drown  the  whirr  of  that  machine. 

But  a  man  may  use  an  axe  with  his  hands,  and 
yet  have  idiotic  fancies  all  the  time  bubbling  and 
seething  in  his  head.  The  power  to  hold  in  check 
the  vagaries  of  imagination  may  be  gone.  From 
all  sides  they  come  creeping  out  in  swarms,  they 
swoop  down  on  him  like  birds  of  prey — as  if  in 
revenge  for  having  been  driven  away  so  often  be- 
fore— they  cry :  here  we  are !  He  stood  once  more 
as  an  apprentice  in  the  mechanical  works,  riveting 
the  plates  of  a  gigantic  boiler  with  a  compressed- 
air  tube — cling,  clang!  The  wailing  clang  of  the 
boiler  went  out  over  the  whole  town.  And  now 
that  same  boiler  is  set  up  inside  his  head — cling- 
clang — ughl  A  cold  sweat  breaks  out  upon  his 
body ;  he  throws  down  the  axe ;  he  must  go — must 
fly,  escape  somewhere — where,  he  cannot  tell. 
Faces  that  he  hates  to  think  of  peer  out  at  him 
from  every  corner,  yapping  out:  "Heh! — what 
did  we  say?  To-day  a  beggar — to-morrow  a  mad- 
man in  a  cell." 


The  Great  Hunger  279 

But  it  may  happen,  too,  that  help  comes  in  the 
night.  Things  come  back  to  a  man  that  it  is  good 
to  remember.  That  time — and  that  other.  ...  A 
woman  there — and  the  one  you  met  in  such  a  place. 
There  is  a  picture  in  the  Louvre,  by  Veronese :  a 
young  Venetian  woman  steps  out  upon  the  marble 
stairway  of  a  palace  holding  a  golden-haired  boy 
by  the  hand;  she  is  dressed  in  black  velvet,  she 
glows  with  youth  and  happiness.  A  lovers*  meet- 
ing in  her  garden?  The  first  kiss !  Moonlight  and 
mandolins ! 

A  shudder  of  pleasure  passes  through  his  weary 
body.  Bright  recollections  and  impressions  flock 
towards  him  like  spirits  of  light — he  can  hear  the 
rushing  sound  of  their  wings — he  calls  to  them  for 
aid,  and  they  encircle  him  round;  they  struggle 
with  the  spirits  of  darkness  for  his  soul.  He  has 
known  much  brightness,  much  beauty  in  his  life — 
surely  the  bright  angels  are  the  stronger  and  must 
conquer.  Ah !  why  had  he  not  lived  royally,  amidst 
women  and  flowers  and  wine? 

One  morning  as  he  was  getting  up,  he  said: 
" Merle,  I  must  and  will  hit  upon  something  that'll 
send  me  to  bed  thoroughly  tired  out." 

1 '  Yes  dear, ' '  she  answered.    ' '  Do  try. ' ' 

"I'll  try  wheeling  stones  to  begin  with,"  he  said. 
"The  devil's  in  it  if  a  day  at  that  doesn't  make  a 
man  sleep." 

So  that  day  and  for  many  days  he  wheeled 
stones  from  some  newly  broken  land  on  the  hillside 
down  to  a  dyke  that  ran  along  the  road. 


280  The  Great  Hunger 

Calm,  golden  autumn  days;  one  farm  above  an- 
other rising  up  towards  the  crest  of  the  range,  all 
set  in  ripe  yellow  fields.  One  little  cottage  stands 
right  on  the  crest  against  the  sky  itself,  and  it, 
too,  has  its  tiny  patch  of  yellow  corn.  And  an 
eagle  sails  slowly  across  the  deep  valley  from  peak 
to  peak. 

People  passing  by  stared  at  Peer  as  he  went 
about  bare-headed,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  wheeling 
stones.  "Aye,  gentlefolks  have  queer  notions," 
they  would  say,  shaking  their  heads. 

"That's  it — keep  at  it,"  a  dry,  hacking  voice 
kept  going  in  Peer's  head.  "It  is  idiocy,  but  you 
are  doomed  to  it.  Shove  hard  with  those  skinny 
legs  of  yours ;  many  a  jade  before  you  has  had  to 
do  the  same.  You've  got  to  get  some  sleep  to- 
night. Only  ten  months  left  now;  and  then  we 
shall  have  Lucifer  turning  up  at  the  cross-roads 
once  more.  Poor  Merle — she 's  beginning  to  grow 
grey.  And  the  poor  little  children — dreaming  of 
father  beating  them,  maybe,  they  cry  out  so  often 
in  their  sleep.  Off  now,  trundle  away.  Now  over 
with  that  load ;  and  back  for  another. 

"You,  that  once  looked  down  on  the  soulless  toil 
for  bread,  you  have  sunk  now  to  something  far 
more  miserable.  You  are  dragging  at  a  load  of 
sheer  stupidity.  You  are  a  galley-slave,  with 
calamity  for  your  task-master.  As  you  move  the 
chains  rattle.  And  that  is  your  day." 

He  straightens  himself  up,  wipes  the  sweat  from 


The  Great  Hunger  281 

his  forehead,  and  begins  heaving  up  stones  into 
his  barrow  again. 

How  long  must  it  last,  this  life  in  manacles? 
Do  you  remember  Job?  Job?  Aye,  doubtless 
Jehovah  was  sitting  at  some  jovial  feast  when  he 
conceived  that  fantasy  of  a  drunken  brain,  to  let 
Satan  loose  upon  a  happy  man.  Job  ?  His  seven 
sons  and  daughters,  and  his  cattle,  and  his  calves 
were  restored  unto  him,  but  we  read  nothing  of 
any  compensation  made  him  for  the  jest  itself. 
He  was  made  to  play  court  fool,  with  his  boils 
and  his  tortures  and  his  misery,  and  the  gods 
had  their  bit  of  sport  gratis.  Job  had  his  actual 
outlay  in  cattle  and  offspring  refunded,  and  that 
was  all.  Ha-ha  1 

Prometheus!  Is  it  you  after  all  that  are  the 
friend  of  man  among  the  gods  ?  Have  you  indeed 
the  power  to  free  us  all  some  day?  When  will  you 
come,  then,  to  raise  the  great  revolt? 

Come,  come — up  with  the  barrow  again — you 
see  it  is  full. 

"Father,  it's  dinner-time.  Come  along  home,'7 
cries  little  Louise,  racing  down  the  hill  with  her 
yellow  plaits  flying  about  her  ears.  But  she  stops 
cautiously  a  little  distance  off — there  is  no  know- 
ing what  sort  of  temper  father  may  be  in. 

"  Thanks,  little  monkey.  Got  anything  good  for 
dinner  to-day?" 

"Aha !  that's  a  secret,"  said  the  girl  in  a  teasing 
voice ;  she  was  beaming  now,  with  delight  at  find- 


282  The  Great  Hunger 

ing  him  approachable.  "Catch  me,  father !  I  can 
run  quicker  than  you  can!" 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  too  tired  just  now,  my  little 
girl." 

' '  Oh,  poor  papa !  are  you  tired  I ' '  And  she  came 
up  and  took  him  by  the  hand.  Then  she  slipped 
her  arm  into  his — it  was  just  as  good  fun  to  walk 
up  the  hill  on  her  father's  arm  like  a  grown-up 
young  lady. 

Then  came  the  frosts.  And  one  morning  the 
hilltops  were  turned  into  leaden  grey  clouds  from 
which  the  snow  came  sweeping  down.  Merle  stood 
at  the  window,  her  face  grey  in  the  clammy  light. 
She  looked  down  the  valley  to  where  the  moun- 
tains closed  it  in;  it  seemed  still  narrower  than 
before;  one's  breath  came  heavily,  and  one's  mind 
seemed  stifled  under  cold  damp  wrappings. 

Ugh !  Better  go  out  into  the  kitchen  and  set  to 
work  again — work — work  and  forget. 

Then  one  day  there  came  a  letter  telling  her 
that  her  mother  was  dead. 


Chapter  HI 

DEAR  KLAUS  BROCK, — 

Legendary  being!  Cast  down  from  Khedivial 
heights  one  day  and  up  again  on  high  with  Kitch- 
ener the  next.  But,  in  Heaven's  name,  what  has 
taken  you  to  the  Soudan!  What  made  you  go  and 
risk  your  life  at  Omdurman?  The  same  old  des- 
peration, I  suppose,  that  you're  always  complain- 
ing about.  And  why,  of  all  things,  plant  yourself 
away  in  an  outpost  on  the  edge  of  the  wilderness, 
to  lie  awake  at  nights  nursing  suicidal  thoughts 
over  Schopenhauer?  You  have  lived  without  prin- 
ciples, you  say.  And  wasted  your  youth.  And  are 
homeless  now  all  round,  with  no  morals,  no  coun- 
try, no  religion.  But  will  you  make  all  this  better 
by  making  things  much  worse? 

You've  no  reason  to  envy  me  my  country  life, 
by  the  way,  and  there's  no  sense  in  your  going 
about  longing  for  the  little  church  of  your  child- 
hood, with  its  Moses  and  hymns  and  God.  Well, 
longing  does  no  harm,  perhaps,  but  don't  ever  try 
to  find  it.  The  fact  is,  old  fellow,  that  such  things 
are  not  to  be  found  any  more. 

I  take  it  that  religion  had  the  same  power  on 
you  in  your  childhood  as  it  had  with  me.  We  were 
wild  young  scamps,  both  of  us,  but  we  liked  going 

283 


284  The  Great  Hunger 

to  church,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  sermons,  but  to 
bow  our  heads  when  the  hymn  arose  and  join  in 
singing  it.  When  the  waves  of  the  organ-music 
rolled  through  the  church,  it  seemed — to  me  at 
least — as  if  something  were  set  swelling  in  my  own 
soul,  bearing  me  away  to  lands  and  kingdoms 
where  all  at  last  was  as  it  should  be.  And  when 
we  went  out  into  the  world  we  went  with  some  echo 
of  the  hymn  in  our  hearts,  and  we  might  curse 
Jehovah,  but  in  a  corner  of  our  minds  the  hymn 
lived  on  as  a  craving,  a  hunger  for  some  world- 
harmony.  All  through  the  busy  day  we  might 
bear  our  part  in  the  roaring  song  of  the  steel,  but 
in  the  evenings,  on  our  lonely  couch,  another  power 
would  come  forth  in  our  minds,  the  hunger  for  the 
infinite,  the  longing  to  be  cradled  and  borne  up 
on  the  waves  of  eternity,  whose  way  is  past  all 
finding  out. 

Never  believe,  though,  that  you'll  find  the  church 
of  your  childhood  now  in  any  of  our  country 
places.  We  have  electric  light  now  everywhere, 
telephones,  separators,  labour  unions  and  political 
meetings,  but  the  church  stands  empty.  I  have 
been  there.  The  organ  wails  as  if  it  had  the  tooth- 
ache, the  precentor  sneezes  out  a  hymn,  the  con- 
gregation does  not  lift  the  roof  off  with  its  voice, 
for  the  very  good  reason  that  there  is  no  con- 
gregation there.  And  the  priest,  poor  devil,  stands 
up  in  his  pulpit  with  his  black  moustache  and 
pince-nez ;  he  is  an  officer  in  the  army  reserve,  and 
he  reads  out  his  highly  rational  remarks  from  a 


The  Great  Hunger  285 

manuscript.  But  his  face  says  all  the  time — "You 
two  paupers  down  there  that  make  up  my  congre- 
gation, you  don't  believe  a  word  I  am  saying;  but 
never  mind,  I  don't  believe  it  either."  It's  a 
tragic  business  when  people  have  outgrown  their 
own  conception  of  the  divine.  And  we — we  are 
certainly  better  than  Jehovah.  The  dogma  of  the 
atonement,  based  on  original  sin  and  the  blood- 
thirstiness  of  God,  is  revolting  to  us;  we  shrug 
our  shoulders,  and  turn  away  with  a  smile,  or  in 
disgust.  We  are  not  angels  yet,  but  we  are  too 
good  to  worship  such  a  God  as  that. 

There  is  some  excuse  for  the  priest,  of  course. 
He  must  preach  of  some  God.  And  he  has  no 
other. 

Altogether,  it's  hardly  surprising  that  even 
ignorant  peasants  shake  their  heads  and  give  the 
church  a  wide  berth.  What  do  they  do  on  Sun- 
days, then  f  My  dear  fellow,  they  have  no  Sunday. 
They  sit  nodding  their  heads  over  a  long  table, 
waiting  for  the  day  to  pass.  They  remind  one  of 
plough  horses,  that  have  filled  their  bellies,  and 
stand  snoring  softly,  because  there's  no  work  to- 
day. 

The  great  evolutionary  scheme,  with  its  wonders 
of  steel  and  miracles  of  science,  goes  marching  on 
victoriously,  I  grant  you,  changing  the  face  of  the 
world,  hurrying  its  pulse  to  a  more  and  more 
feverish  beat.  But  what  good  will  it  do  the  peas- 
ant to  be  able  to  fly  through  the  air  on  his  wheel- 
barrow, while  no  temple,  no  holy  day,  is  left  him 


286  The  Great  Hunger 

any  more  on  earth?  What  errand  can  he  have  up 
among  the  clouds,  while  yet  no  heaven  arches 
above  his  soul? 

This  is  the  burning  question  with  all  of  us,  with 
you  in  the  desert  as  with  us  up  here  under  the 
Pole.  To  me  it  seems  that  we  need  One  who  will 
make  our  religion  new — not  merely  a  new  prophet, 
but  a  new  God. 

You  ask  about  my  health — well,  I  fancy  it's  too 
early  yet  to  speak  about  it.  But  so  much  I  will 
say :  If  you  should  ever  be  in  pain  and  suffering, 
take  it  out  on  yourself — not  on  others. 

Greetings  from  us  all. 

Yours, 

PEEE  DALESMAN. 


Chapter  IV 

CHRISTMAS  was  near,  the  days  were  all  grey  twi- 
light, and  there  was  a  frost  that  set  the  wall-tim- 
bers cracking.  The  children  went  about  blue  with 
cold.  When  Merle  scrubbed  the  floors,  they  turned 
into  small  skating-rinks,  though  there  might  be 
a  big  fire  in  the  stove.  Peer  waded  and  waded 
through  deep  snow  to  the  well  for  water,  and  his 
beard  hung  like  a  wreath  of  icicles  about  his  face. 
Aye,  this  was  a  winter. 

Old  Eaastad's  two  daughters  were  in  the  dairy 
making  whey-cheese.     The  door  was  flung  open, 
there  was  a  rush  of  frosty  air,  and  Peer  stood 
there  blinking  his  eyes. 
"Huh!  what  smokers  you  two  are!" 
"Are  we  now?"    And  the  red-haired  one  and 
the  fair-haired  one  both  giggled,  and  they  looked 
at  each  other  and  nodded.    This  queer  townsman- 
lodger  of  theirs  never  came  near  them  that  he 
didn't  crack  jokes. 

"By  the  way,  Else,  I  dreamed  last  night  that 
we  were  going  to  be  married." 
Both  the  girls  shrieked  with  delight  at  this. 
"And  Mari,  you  were  married  to  the  bailiff." 
' '  Oh  my !    That  old  creature  down  at  Moen  ? ' ' 
*  *  He  was  much  older.   Ninety  years  old  he  was. ' ' 

887 


288  The  Great  Hunger 

"Uf ! — you're  always  at  your  nonsense,"  said 
the  red-haired  girl,  stirring  away  at  her  huge, 
steaming  cauldron. 

Peer  went  out  again.  The  girls  were  hardly  out 
of  their  teens,  and  yet  their  faces  seemed  set 
already  and  stiff  with  earnestness.  And  whenever 
Peer  had  managed  to  set  them  laughing  unawares, 
they  seemed  frightened  the  next  minute  at  having 
been  betrayed  into  doing  something  there  was  no 
profit  in. 

Peer  strode  about  in  the  crackling  snow  with  his 
fur  cap  drawn  down  over  his  ears.  Jotunheim  it- 
self lay  there  up  north,  breathing  an  icy-blue  cold 
out  over  the  world. 

And  he?  Was  he  to  go  on  like  this,  growing 
hunchbacked  under  a  burden  that  weighed  and 
bowed  him  down  continually!  Why  the  devil  could 
he  not  shake  it  off,  break  away  from  it,  and  kick 
out  bravely  at  his  evil  fate  ? 

"Peer,"  asked  Merle,  standing  in  the  kitchen, 
"what  did  you  think  of  giving  the  children  for  a 
Christmas  present?" 

"Oh,  a  palace  each,  and  a  horse  to  ride,  of 
course.  When  you  Ve  more  money  than  you  know 
what  to  do  with,  the  devil  take  economy.  And 
what  about  you,  my  girl?  Any  objection  to  a 
couple  of  thousand  crowns'  worth  of  furs?" 

"No,  but  seriously.  The  children  haven't  any 
ski — nor  a  hand-sleigh." 

"Well,  have  you  the  money  to  buy  them?  I 
haven't." 


The  Great  Hunger  289 

"Suppose  you  tried  making  them  yourself?" 

* '  Ski  ? ' '  Peer  turned  over  the  notion,  whistling. 
"Well,  why  not?  And  a  sleigh?  We  might  man- 
age that.  But  what  about  little  Asta? — she's  too 
little  for  that  sort  of  thing." 

"She  hasn't  any  bed  for  her  doll." 

Peer  whistled  again.  "There's  something  in 
that.  That's  an  idea.  I'm  not  sohandless  yet  that 
I  couldn't " 

He  was  soon  hard  at  it.  There  were  tools  and  a 
joiner's  bench  in  an  outhouse,  and  there  he  worked. 
He  grew  easily  tired;  his  feet  tried  constantly  to 
take  him  to  the  door,  but  he  forced  himself  to  go 
on.  Is  there  anything  in  the  notion  that  a  man 
can  get  well  by  simply  willing  it  ?  I  will,  will,  will. 
The  thought  of  others  besides  himself  began  to 
get  the  upper  hand  of  those  birds  of  prey  ravening 
in  his  head.  Presents  for  the  children,  presents 
that  father  had  made  himself — the  picture  made 
light  and  warmth  in  his  mind.  Drive  ahead  then. 

When  it  came  to  making  the  iron  ribbons  for 
the  sleigh  runners  he  had  to  go  across  to  the 
smithy ;  and  there  stood  a  cottar  at  work  roughing 
horseshoes.  Red  glowing  iron  once  more,  and 
steel.  The  clang  of  hammer  on  anvil  seemed  to 
tear  his  ears ;  yet  it  drew  him  on  too.  It  was  long 
since  last  he  heard  that  sound.  And  there  were 
memories. 

"Want  this  welded,  Jens?  Where's  the  borax? 
Look  here,  this  is  the  way  of  it." 

"Might  ha'  been  born  and  bred  a  smith,"  said 


290  The  Great  Hunger 

Jens,  as  he  watched  the  deft  and  easy  hammer- 
strokes. 

Christmas  Eve  came,  and  the  grey  farm-pony 
dragged  up  a  hig  wooden  case  to  the  door.  Peer 
opened  it  and  carried  in  the  things — a  whole  heap 
of  good  things  for  Christmas  from  the  Ringeby 
relations. 

He  bit  his  lips  when  he  saw  all  the  bags  piled  up 
on  the  kitchen  table.  There  had  been  a  time  not 
long  ago  when  Merle  and  he  had  loaded  up  a  sledge 
at  the  Loreng  storehouse  and  driven  off  with 
Christmas  gifts  to  all  the  poor  folk  round.  It  was 
part  of  the  season's  fun  for  them.  And  now — 
now  they  must  even  be  glad  to  receive  presents 
themselves. 

"Merle — have  we  nothing  we  can  give  away  this 
year?" 

"I  don't  know.    What  do  you  think?" 

"A  poor  man's  Christmas  it'll  be  with  a  ven- 
geance— if  we're  only  to  take  presents,  and  haven't 
the  least  little  thing  to  give  away." 

Merle  sighed.  "We  must  hope  it  won't  happen 
to  us  again,"  she  said. 

"I  won't  have  it  happen  to  us  now,"  he  said, 
pacing  up  and  down.  "There's  that  poor  devil  of 
a  joiner  down  at  Moen,  with  consumption.  I'm 
going  down  there  with  a  bit  of  a  parcel  to  chuck 
in  at  his  door,  if  I  have  to  take  your  shift  and  the 
shirt  off  my  back.  You  know  yourself  it  won't  be 
any  Christmas  at  all,  if  we  don't  do  something." 

"Well — if  you  like.    I'll  see  if  we  can't  find 


The  Great  Hwiger  291 

something  among  the  children's  clothes  that  they 
can  do  without." 

The  end  of  it  was  that  Merle  levied  toll  on  all 
the  parcels  from  home,  both  rice  and  raisins  and 
cakes,  and  made  up  little  packets  of  them  to  send 
round  by  him.  That  was  Merle's  way;  let  her 
alone  and  she  would  hit  upon  something. 

The  snow  creaked  and  crackled  underfoot  as 
Peer  went  off  on  his  errand.  A  starry  sky  and  a 
biting  wind,  and  light  upon  light  from  the  windows 
of  the  farms  scattered  over  the  dark  hillsides. 
High  above  all,  against  the  sky,  there  was  one  little 
gleam  that  might  be  a  cottage  window,  or  might  be 
a  star. 

Peer  was  flushed  and  freshened  up  when  he  came 
back  into  the  warmth  of  the  room.  And  a  chorus 
of  joyful  shouts  was  raised  when  Merle  announced 
to  the  children:  "Father's  going  to  bath  you  all 
to-night." 

The  sawed-off  end  of  a  barrel  was  the  bathing- 
tub,  and  Peer  stood  in  the  kitchen  with  his  sleeves 
rolled  up,  holding  the  naked  little  bodies  as  they 
sprawled  about  in  the  steaming  water. 

Mother  was  busy  with  something  or  other  in  the 
sitting-room.  But  it  was  a  great  secret,  and  the 
children  were  very  mysterious  about  it.  "No,  no, 
you  mustn't  go  in,"  they  said  to  little  Asta,  who 
went  whimpering  for  her  mother  to  the  door. 

And  later  in  the  evening,  when  the  Christmas- 
tree  was  lit  up,  and  the  windows  shone  white  with 
frost,  there  were  great  doings  all  about  the  sitting- 


292  The  Great  Hunger 

room  floor.  Louise  got  her  ski  on  and  immediately 
fell  on  her  face ;  Lorentz,  astride  of  the  new  sleigh, 
was  shouting  "Hi,  hi! — clear  the  course  there!'', 
and  over  in  a  corner  sat  little  Asta,  busy  putting 
her  baby  to  bed  and  singing  it  to  sleep. 

Husband  and  wife  looked  at  each  other  and 
smiled. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Merle. 

Slowly,  with  torturing  slowness,  the  leaden-grey 
winter  days  creep  by.  For  two  hours  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day  there  is  pale  twilight — for  two  hours 
— then  darkness  again.  Through  the  long  nights 
the  north  wind  howls  funeral  dirges — hu-u-u-u — 
and  piles  up  the  snow  into  great  drifts  across  the 
road,  deep  enough,  almost,  to  smother  a  sleigh  and 
its  driver.  The  days  and  nights  come  and  go,  mo- 
notonous, unchanged ;  the  same  icy  grey  daylight, 
and  never  a  human  soul  to  speak  to.  Across  the 
valley  a  great  solid  mountain  wall  hems  you  in, 
and  you  gaze  at  it  till  it  nearly  drives  you  mad. 
If  only  one  could  bore  a  hole  through  it,  and  steal 
a  glimpse  of  the  world  beyond,  or  could  climb  up 
to  the  topmost  ridge  and  for  a  moment  look  far 
round  to  a  wide  horizon,  and  breathe  freely  once 
more. 

At  last  one  day  the  grey  veil  lifts  a  little.  A 
strip  of  blue  sky  appears — and  hearts  grow  lighter 
at  the  sight.  The  snow  peaks  to  the  south  turn 
golden.  What?  Is  it  actually  the  sun?  And  day 
by  day  now  a  belt  of  gold  grows  broader,  comes 


The  Great  Hunger  293 

lower  and  lower  on  the  hillside,  till  the  highest- 
lying  farms  are  steeped  in  it  and  glow  red.  And 
at  last  one  day  the  red  flame  reaches  the  Court- 
house, and  shines  in  across  the  floor  of  the  room 
where  Merle  is  sitting  by  the  window  patching  the 
seat  of  a  tiny  pair  of  trousers. 

What  life  and  cheer  it  brings  with  it! 

"Mother — here's  the  sun,"  cries  Louise  joyfully 
from  the  doorway. 

"Yes,  child,  I  see  it." 

But  Louise  has  only  looked  in  for  a  moment  to 
beg  some  cake  for  Lorentz  and  herself,  and  be  off 
again  on  her  ski  to  the  hill-slopes.  '  *  Thank  you, 
mother — you're  a  darling!"  And  with  a  slice  in 
each  hand  she  dashes  out,  glowing  with  health  and 
the  cold  air. 

If  only  Peer  could  glow  with  health  again!  But 
though  one  day  they  might  persuade  themselves 
that  now — now  at  last  he  had  turned  the  comer — 
the  next  he  would  be  lying  tossing  about  in  misery, 
and  it  all  seemed  more  hopeless  than  ever.  He 
had  taken  to  the  doctors '  medicines  again — arsenic 
and  iron  and  so  forth — and  the  quiet  and  fresh  air 
they  had  prescribed  were  here  in  plenty;  would 
nothing  do  him  any  good?  There  were  not  so 
many  months  of  their  year  left  now. 

And  then?  Another  winter  here?  And  living 
on  charity — ah  me!  Merle  shook  her  head  and 
sighed. 

The  time  had  come,  too,  when  Louise  should  go 
to  school. 


294  The  Great  Hunger 

"Send  the  children  over  to  me — all  three  of 
them,  if  you  like,"  wrote  Aunt  Marit  from 
Bruseth.  No,  thanks;  Merle  knew  what  that 
meant.  Aunt  Marit  wanted  to  keep  them  for  good. 

Lose  her  children — give  away  her  children  to 
others?  Was  the  day  to  come  when  that  burden, 
too,  would  be  laid  upon  them? 

But  schooling  they  must  have ;  they  must  learn 
enough  at  least  to  fit  them  to  make  a  living  when 
they  grew  up.  And  if  their  own  parents  could 
not  afford  them  schooling,  why — why  then  perhaps 
they  had  no  right  to  keep  them? 

Merle  sewed  and  sewed  on,  lifting  her  head  now 
and  again,  so  that  the  sunlight  fell  on  her  face. 

How  the  snow  shone — like  purple  under  the  red 
flood  of  sunlight.  After  all,  their  troubles  seemed 
a  little  easier  to  bear  to-day.  It  was  as  if  some- 
thing frozen  in  her  heart  were  beginning  to  thaw. 

Louise  was  getting  on  well  with  her  violin.  Per- 
haps one  day  the  child  might  go  out  into  the  world, 
and  win  the  triumphs  that  her  mother  had  dreamed 
of  in  vain. 

There  was  a  sound  of  hurried  steps  in  the  pas- 
sage, and  she  started  and  sat  in  suspense.  Would 
he  come  in  raging,  or  in  despair,  or  had  the  pains 
in  his  head  come  back?  The  door  opened. 

"Merle!  I  have  it  now.  By  all  the  gods,  little 
woman,  something's  happened  at  last!" 

Merle  half  rose  from  her  seat,  but  sank  back 
again,  gazing  at  his  face. 

"I've  got  it  this  time,  Merle,"  he  said  again. 


The  Great  Hunger  295 

1 '  And  how  on  earth  I  never  hit  on  it  before — when 
it's  as  simple  as  shelling  peas!'* 

He  was  stalking  about  the  room  now,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  whistling. 

"But  what  is  it,  Peer?" 

"Why,  you  see,  I  was  standing  there  chopping 
wood.  And  all  the  time  swarms  of  mowing  ma- 
chines— nine  million  of  them — were  going  in  my 
head,  all  with  the  grass  sticking  fast  to  the  shears 
and  clogging  them  up.  I  was  in  a  cold  sweat — I 
felt  myself  going  straight  to  hell — and  then,  in  a 
flash — a  flash  of  steel — it  came  to  me.  It  meana 
salvation  for  us,  Merle,  salvation. ' ' 

"Oh,  do  talk  so  that  I  can  understand  a  little 
of  what  you're  saying." 

"Why,  don't  you  see — all  that's  wanted  is  a 
small  movable  steel  brush  above  the  shears,  to 
flick  away  the  grass  and  keep  them  clear.  Hang 
it  all,  a  child  could  see  it.  By  Jove,  little  woman, 
it'll  soon  be  changed  times  with  us  now." 

Merle  laid  her  work  down  in  her  lap  and  let  her 
hands  fall.  If  this  were  true ! 

"I'll  have  the  machine  up  here,  Merle.  Making 
the  brushes  and  fixing  them  on  will  be  no  trouble 
at  all — I  can  do  it  in  a  day  in  the  smithy  here." 

"What — you  had  better  try!  You're  just  be- 
ginning to  get  a  little  better,  and  you  want  to  spoil 
it  all  again!" 

"I  shall  never  get  well,  Merle,  as  long  as  I  have 
that  infernal  machine  in  my  head  balancing  be- 
tween world-success  and  fiasco.  It  presses  on  my 


296  The  Great  Hunger 

brain  like  a  leaden  weight,  I  shall  never  have  a 
decent  night's  sleep  till  I  get  rid  of  it.  Oh,  my 
great  God — if  times  were  to  change  some  day — 
even  for  us!  Well!  Do  you  think  I  wouldn't  get 
well  when  that  day  came ! ' ' 

This  time  she  let  him  take  her  in  his  arms.  But 
when  he  had  gone,  she  sat  still,  watching  the  sun 
sink  behind  the  snow-ranges,  till  her  eyes  grew  dim 
and  her  breath  came  heavily. 

A  week  later,  when  the  sun  was  flaming  on  the 
white  roofs,  the  grey  pony  dragged  a  huge  pack- 
ing-case up  to  Raastad.  And  the  same  day  a  noise 
of  hammer  and  file  at  work  was  heard  in  the 
smithy. 

What  do  a  few  sleepless  nights  matter  now? 
And  they  are  sleepless  not  so  much  from  anxiety 
* — for  this  time  things  go  well — as  because  of 
dreams.  And  both  of  them  dream.  They  have 
bought  back  Loreng,  and  they  wander  about 
through  the  great  light  rooms  once  more,  and  all 
is  peace  and  happiness.  All  the  evil  days  before 
are  as  a  nightmare  that  is  past.  Once  more  they 
will  be  young,  go  out  on  ski  together,  and  dine  to- 
gether after,  and  drink  champagne,  and  look  at 
each  other  with  love  in  their  eyes.  Once  more — < 
and  many  times  again. 

1 l  Good-night,  Merle. ' ' 

"Good-night,  Peer,  and  sleep  well." 

Day  after  day  the  hammering  went  on  in  the 
smithy. 

A  few  years  back  he  could  have  finished  the 


The  Great  Hunger  297 

whole  business  in  a  couple  of  days.  But  now,  half 
an  hour's  work  was  enough  to  tire  him  out.  It  is 
exhausting  work  to  concentrate  your  thoughts 
upon  a  single  point,  when  your  brain  has  long  been 
used  to  play  idly  with  stray  fancies  as  they  came. 
He  found,  too,  that  there  were  defects  to  be  put 
right  in  the  parts  he  thought  were  complete  be- 
fore, and  he  had  no  assistants  now,  no  foundry  to 
get  castings  from,  he  must  forge  out  each  piece 
with  his  own  hands,  and  with  sorry  tools. 

What  did  it  matter? 

He  began  to  discipline  his  brain,  denying  him- 
self every  superfluous  thought.  He  drew  dark  cur- 
tains across  every  window  in  his  consciousness, 
save  one — the  machine.  After  half  an  hour 's  work 
he  would  go  back  to  bed  and  rest — just  close  his 
eyes,  and  rest.  This  too  was  discipline.  Again 
he  flooded  all  his  mind  with  darkness,  darkness, 
to  save  his  strength  for  the  half -hour  of  work  next 
day. 

Was  Merle  fearful  and  anxious?  At  all  events 
she  said  no  word  about  the  work  that  so  absorbed 
him.  He  was  excited  enough  as  it  was.  And  now 
when  he  was  irritable  and  angry  with  the  children, 
she  did  not  even  look  at  him  reproachfully.  They 
must  bear  it,  both  she  and  the  children — it  would 
soon  be  all  over  now. 

In  the  clear  moonlight  nights,  when  the  children 
were  in  bed,  the  two  would  sometimes  be  seen  wan- 
dering about  together.  They  went  with  their  arms 
about  each  other's  waists,  talking  loudly,  laughing 


298  The  Great  Hunger 

a  great  deal,  and  sometimes  singing.  People  going 
by  on  the  road  would  hear  the  laughter  and  sing- 
ing, and  think  to  themselves :  It's  either  someone 
that's  been  drinking,  or  else  that  couple  from  the 
Court-house. 
The  spring  drew  on  and  the  days  grew  lighter. 

But  at  the  Hamar  Agricultural  Exhibition, 
where  the  machine  was  tried,  an  American  com- 
petitor was  found  to  be  just  a  little  better.  Every- 
one thought  it  a  queer  business;  for  even  if  the 
idea  hadn't  been  directly  stolen  from  Peer,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  his  machine  had  suggested 
it.  The  principles  adopted  were  the  same  in  both 
cases,  but  in  the  American  machine  there  was  just 
enough  improvement  in  carrying  them  out  to  make 
it  doubtful  whether  it  would  be  any  use  going  to 
law  over  the  patent  rights.  And  besides — it's  no 
light  matter  for  a  man  with  no  money  at  his  back 
to  go  to  law  with  a  rich  American  firm. 

In  the  mighty  race,  with  competitors  the  wide 
world  over,  to  produce  the  best  machine,  Peer  had 
been  on  the  very  point  of  winning.  Another  man 
had  climbed  upon  his  chariot,  and  then,  at  the  last 
moment,  jumped  a  few  feet  ahead,  and  had  thereby 
won  the  prize. 

So  that  the  achievement  in  itself  be  good,  the 
world  does  not  inquire  too  curiously  whether  it  was 
honestly  achieved. 

And  there  is  no  use  starting  a  joint-stock  com- 


The  Great  Hunger  299 

pany  to  exploit  a  new  machine  when  there  is  a  bet- 
ter machine  in  the  field. 

The  steel  had  seized  on  Peer,  and  used  him  as  a 
springboard.  But  the  reward  was  destined  for 
another. 


Chapter  V 

HERB  UTHOTJG  JUNIOR,  Agent  for  English  tweeds, 
stepped  out  of  the  train  one  warm  day  in  July, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  station  platform 
looking  about  him.  Magnificent  scenery,  certainly. 
And  this  beautiful  valley  was  where  his  sister  had 
been  living  for  more  than  a  year.  Splendid  air — 
and  yet  somehow  it  didn't  seem  to  have  done  his 
brother-in-law  much  good.  Well,  well!  And  the 
neatly  dressed  young  gentleman  set  off  on  foot  to- 
wards Raastad,  asking  his  way  from  time  to  time. 
He  wanted  to  take  them  by  surprise.  There  had 
been  a  family  council  at  Ringeby,  and  they  had 
agreed  that  some  definite  arrangement  must  be 
made  for  the  future  of  the  sister  and  her  husband, 
with  whom  things  had  gone  so  hopelessly  wrong. 

As  he  turned  up  the  by-road  that  led  to  the  farm, 
he  was  aware  of  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  wheel- 
ing a  barrow  full  of  stones.  What?  He  thought — 
could  he  be  mistaken?  No — sure  enough  it  was 
Peer  Holm — Peer  Holm,  loading  up  stones  and 
wheeling  them  down  the  hill  as  zealously  as  if  he 
were  paid  for  every  step. 

The  Agent  was  not  the  man  for  lamentations  or 
condolences.  " Hullo!"  he  cried.  "Hard  at  it, 
aren't  you?  You've  taken  to  farming,  I  see." 

300 


The  Great  Hunger  301 

Peer  stood  up  straight,  wiped  his  hands  on  his 
trousers,  and  came  towards  him,.  "Good  heavens ! 
how  old  he  has  grown ! ' '  thought  Uthoug  to  him- 
self. But  aloud  he  said,  ' '  Well,  you  do  look  fit.  I  'd 
hardly  have  known  you  again. " 

Merle  caught  sight  of  the  pair  from  the  kitchen 

window.  "Why,  I  do  believe "  she  exclaimed, 

and  came  running  out.  It  was  so  long  since  she 
had  seen  any  of  her  people,  that  she  forgot  her 
dignity  and  in  a  moment  had  her  arms  round  her 
brother's  neck,  hugging  him. 

No,  certainly  Uthoug  junior  had  not  come  with 
lamentations  and  condolences.  He  had  a  bottle 
of  good  wine  in  his  bag,  and  at  supper  he  filled  the 
glasses  and  drank  with  them  both,  and  talked  about 
theatres  and  variety  shows,  and  gave  imitations  of 
well-known  actors,  till  he  had  set  the  two  poor 
harassed  creatures  laughing.  They  must  need  a 
little  joy  and  laughter — ah !  well  he  knew  how  they 
must  need  it. 

But  he  knew,  too,  that  Merle  and  Peer  were  on 
tenterhooks  waiting  to  know  what  the  family  had 
decided  about  their  future.  The  days  of  their  life 
here  had  been  evil  and  sad,  but  they  only  hoped 
now  that  they  might  be  able  to  stay  on.  If  the  help 
they  had  received  up  to  now  were  taken  from 
them,  they  could  neither  afford  to  stay  here  nor  to 
go  elsewhere.  What  then  could  they  do  ?  No  won- 
der they  were  anxious  as  they  sat  there. 

After  supper  he  went  out  for  a  stroll  with  Peer, 
while  Merle  waited  at  home  in  suspense.  She 


302  The  Great  Hunger 

understood  that  their  fate  was  being  settled  as  she 
waited. 

At  last  they  returned — and  to  her  astonishment 
they  came  in  laughing. 

Her  brother  said  good-night,  and  kissed  her  on 
the  forehead,  and  patted  her  arm  and  was  kindness 
itself.  She  took  him  up  to  his  room,  and  would 
have  liked  to  sit  there  a  while  and  talk  to  him; 
but  she  knew  Peer  had  waited  till  they  were  alone 
to  tell  her  the  news  that  concerned  them  so  nearly. 
"  Good-night,  then,  Carsten,"  she  said  to  her 
brother,  and  went  downstairs. 

And  then  at  last  she  and  Peer  were  sitting  alone 
together,  at  her  work-table  by  the  window. 

"Well!"  said  Merle. 

"The  thing  is  this,  Merle.  If  we  have  courage 
to  live  at  all,  we  must  look  facts  in  the  face  as  they 
are." 

"Yes,  dear,  but  tell  me  ..." 

"And  the  facts  are  that  with  my  health  as  it 
now  is  I  cannot  possibly  get  any  employment.  It 
is  certain  that  I  cannot.  And  as  that  is  the  case, 
we  may  as  well  be  here  as  anywhere  else." 

"But  can  we  stay  on  here,  Peer?" 

"If  you  can  bear  to  stay  with  a  miserable 
bungler  like  me — that,  of  course,  is  a  question. '  ' 

"Answer  me — can  we  stay  here?" 

"Yes.  But  it  may  be  years,  Merle,  before  I'm 
fit  to  work  again — we've  got  to  reckon  with  that. 
And  to  live  on  charity  year  after  year  is  what  I 
cannot  and  will  not  endure." 


The  Great  Hunger  303 

"But  what  are  we  to  do,  then,  Peer?  There 
seems  to  be  no  possible  way  for  me  to  earn  any 
money. ' ' 

"I  can  try,  at  any  rate,"  he  answered,  looking 
out  of  the  window. 

"You?  Oh  no,  Peer.  Even  if  you  could  get 
work  as  a  draughtsman,  you  know  quite  well  that 
your  eyes  would  never  stand  ..." 

"I  can  do  blacksmith's  work,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  pause.  Merle  glanced  at  him  in- 
voluntarily, as  if  she  could  hardly  believe  her  ears. 
Could  he  be  in  earnest?  Was  the  engineer  of  the 
Nile  Barrage  to  sink  into  a  country  blacksmith? 

She  sighed.  But  she  felt  she  must  not  dishearten 
him.  And  at  last  she  said  with  an  effort:  "It 
would  help  to  pass  the  time,  I  daresay.  And  per- 
haps you  would  get  into  the  way  of  sleeping  bet- 
ter." She  looked  out  of  the  window  with  tightly 
compressed  lips. 

"And  if  I  do  that,  Merle,  we  can't  stay  on  in  this 
house.  In  fact  a  great  box  of  a  place  like  this  is 
too  big  for  us  in  any  case — when  you  haven't  even 
a  maid  to  help  you. ' ' 

"But  do  you  know  of  any  smaller  house  we  could 
take?" 

"Yes,  there's  a  little  place  for  sale,  with  a  rood 
or  two  of  ground.  If  we  had  a  cow  and  a  pig, 
Merle — and  a  few  fowls — and  could  raise  a  bushel 
or  two  of  corn — and  if  I  could  earn  a  few  shillings 
a  week  in  the  smithy — we  wouldn't  come  on  the 
parish,  at  any  rate.  I  could  manage  the  little  jobs 


304  The  Great  Himger 

that  I'd  get — in  fact,  pottering  about  at  them 
would  do  me  good.  What  do  you  say?" 

Merle  did  not  answer;  her  eyes  were  turned 
away,  gazing  fixedly  out  of  the  window. 

"But  there's  another  question — about  you, 
Merle.  Are  you  willing  to  sink  along  with  me  into 
a  life  like  that?  I  shall  be  all  right.  I  lived  in 
just  such  a  place  when  I  was  a  boy.  But  you! 
Honestly,  Merle,  I  don't  think  I  should  ask  it  of 
you."  His  voice  began  to  tremble;  he  pressed 
his  lips  together  and  his  eyes  avoided  her  face. 

There  was  a  pause.  "How  about  the  money?" 
she  said,  at  last.  ' '  How  will  you  buy  the  place  ? ' ' 

"Your  brother  has  promised  to  arrange  about  a 
loan.  But  I  say  again,  Merle — I  shall  not  blame 
you  in  the  least  if  you  would  rather  go  and  live 
with  your  aunt  at  Bruseth.  I  fancy  she'd  be  glad 
to  have  you,  and  the  children  too." 

Again  there  was  silence  for  a  while.  Then  she 
said:  "If  there  are  two  decent  rooms  in  the  cot- 
tage, we  could  be  comfortable  enough.  And  as  you 
say,  it  would  be  easier  to  look  after." 

Peer  waited  a  little.  There  was  something  in 
his  throat  that  prevented  speech.  He  understood 
now  that  it  was  to  be  taken  for  granted,  without 
words,  that  they  should  not  part  company.  And 
it  took  him  a  little  time  to  get  over  the  discovery. 

Merle  sat  facing  him,  but  her  eyes  were  turned 
to  the  window  as  before.  She  had  still  the  same 
beautiful  dark  eyebrows,  but  her  face  was  faded 


The  Great  Hunger  305 

and  worn,  and  there  were  streaks  of  grey  in  her 
hair. 

At  last  he  spoke  again.  "And  about  the  chil- 
dren, Merle.'* 

She  started.  "The  children — what  about 
them?"  Had  it  come  at  last,  the  thing  she  had 
gone  in  fear  of  so  long! 

"Aunt  Marit  has  sent  word  to  ask  if  we  will  let 
your  brother  take  Louise  over  to  stay  with  her." 

"No!"  Merle  flung  out.  "No,  Peer.  Surely 
you  said  no  at  once.  Surely  you  wouldn't  let  her 
go.  You  know  what  it  means,  their  wanting  to 
have  her  over  there." 

"I  know,"  he  nodded.  "But  there's  another 
question:  in  Louise's  own  interest,  have  we  any 
right  to  say  no?" 

"Peer,"  she  cried,  springing  up  and  wringing 
her  hands,  "you  mustn't  ask  it  of  me.  You  don't 
want  to  do  it  yourself.  Surely  we  have  not  come 
to  that — to  begin  sending — giving  away — no,  no, 
no!"  she  moaned.  "Do  you  hear  me,  Peer?  I 
cannot  do  it." 

"As  you  please,  Merle,"  he  said,  rising,  and 
forcing  himself  to  speak  calmly.  "We  can  think 
it  over,  at  any  rate,  till  your  brother  leaves  to- 
morrow. There  are  two  sides  to  the  thing:  one 
way  of  it  may  hurt  us  now;  the  other  way  may 
be  a  very  serious  matter  for  Louise,  poor  thing." 

Next  morning,  when  it  was  time  to  wake  the 
children,  Peer  and  Merle  went  into  the  nursery 
together.  They  stopped  by  Louise's  bed,  and  stood 


806  The  Great  Hunger 

looking  down  at  her.  The  child  had  grown  a  great 
deal  since  they  came  to  Eaastad ;  she  lay  now  with 
her  nose  buried  in  the  pillow  and  the  fair  hair  hid- 
ing her  cheek.  She  slept  so  soundly  and  securely. 
This  was  home  to  her  still;  she  was  safer  with 
father  and  mother  than  anywhere  else  in  the 
world. 

"Louise,"  said  Merle,  shaking  her.  "Time  to 
get  up,  dear." 

The  child  sat  up,  still  half  asleep,  and  looked 
wonderingly  at  the  two  faces.  What  was  it? 

"Make  haste  and  get  dressed,"  said  Peer. 
' '  Fancy !  You  're  going  off  with  Uncle  Carsten  to- 
day, to  see  Aunt  Marit  at  Bruseth.  What  do  you 
say  to  that!" 

The  little  girl  was  wide  awake  in  a  moment,  and 
hopped  out  of  bed  at  once  to  begin  dressing.  But 
there  was  something  in  her  parents'  faces  which 
a  little  subdued  her  joy. 

That  morning  there  was  much  whispering  among 
the  children.  The  two  youngest  looked  with  won- 
dering eyes  at  their  elder  sister,  who  was  going 
away.  Little  Lorentz  gave  her  his  horse  as  a  keep- 
sake, and  Asta  gave  her  youngest  doll.  And  Merle 
went  about  trying  to  make  believe  that  Louise  was 
only  going  on  a  short  visit,  and  would  soon  be 
coming  back. 

By  dinner-time  they  had  packed  a  little  trunk, 
and  Louise,  in  her  best  dress,  was  rushing  about 
saying  goodbye  all  round  the  farm,  the  harvesters, 
whom  she  had  helped  to  drive  in  the  hay,  corning  in 


The  Great  Hunger  307 

for  a  specially  affectionate  farewell.  Her  last  visit 
was  to  Musin,  the  grey  horse,  that  was  grazing 
tethered  behind  the  smithy.  Musin  was  busy  crop- 
ping the  turf,  but  he  just  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
at  her — she  plucked  a  handful  of  grass,  and  offered 
it,  and  when  he  had  disposed  of  that,  she  patted 
his  muzzle,  and  he  let  her  cling  round  his  neck  for 
a  moment. 

"I'll  be  sure  to  write,"  she  cried  out  to  no  one 
in  particular,  as  she  went  back  over  the  courtyard 
again. 

The  train  moved  out  of  the  station,  taking  with 
it  Uthoug  junior  and  Louise,  each  waving  from 
one  of  the  windows  of  the  compartment. 

And  Peer  and  Merle  were  left  on  the  platform, 
holding  their  two  youngest  children  by  the  hand. 
They  could  still  see  a  small  hand  with  a  white 
handkerchief  waving  from  the  carriage  window. 
Then  the  last  carriage  disappeared  into  the  out- 
ting,  and  the  smoke  and  the  rumble  of  the  train 
were  all  that  was  left. 

The  four  that  were  left  behind  stood  still  for  a 
little  while,  but  they  seemed  to  have  moved  un- 
consciously closer  together  than  before. 


Chapter  VI 

SOME  way  up  from  the  high-road  there  stands  a 
little  one-storeyed  house  with  three  small  win- 
dows in  a  row,  a  cowshed  on  one  side  of  it  and  a 
smithy  on  the  other.  When  smoke  rises  from  the 
smithy,  the  neighbours  say :  ' '  The  engineer  must 
be  a  bit  better  to-day,  since  he's  at  it  in  the  smithy 
again.  If  there's  anything  you  want  done,  you'd 
better  take  it  to  him.  He  doesn't  charge  any  more 
than  Jens  up  at  Lia. ' ' 

Merle  and  Peer  had  been  living  here  a  couple  of 
years.  Their  lives  had  gone  on  together,  but  there 
had  come  to  be  this  difference  between  them: 
Merle  still  looked  constantly  at  her  husband's  face, 
always  hoping  that  he  would  get  better,  while  he 
himself  had  no  longer  any  hope.  Even  when  the 
thump,  thumping  in  his  head  was  quiet  for  a  time, 
there  was  generally  some  trouble  somewhere  to 
keep  him  on  the  rack,  only  he  did  not  talk  about  it 
any  more.  He  looked  at  his  wife's  face,  and 
thought  to  himself:  "She  is  changing  more  and 
more ;  and  it  is  you  that  are  to  blame.  You  have 
poured  out  your  own  misery  on  her  day  and  night. 
It  is  time  now  you  tried  to  make  some  amends.'1 
So  had  begun  a  struggle  to  keep  silence,  to  endure, 
if  possible  to  laugh,  even  when  he  could  have  found 

208 


The  Great  Hunger  809 

it  in  his  heart  to  weep.  It  was  difficult  enough, 
especially  at  first,  but  each  victory  gained  brought 
with  it  a  certain  satisfaction  which  strengthened 
him  to  take  up  the  struggle  again. 

In  this  way,  too,  he  learned  to  look  on  his  fate 
more  calmly.  His  humour  grew  lighter;  it  was 
as  if  he  drew  himself  up  and  looked  misfortune  in 
the  eyes,  saying:  "Yes,  I  know  I  am  defence- 
less, and  you  can  plunge  me  deeper  and  deeper 
yet ;  but  for  all  that,  if  I  choose  to  laugh  you  can- 
not hinder  me.' ' 

How  much  easier  all  things  seemed,  now  that  he 
looked  no  longer  for  any  good  to  come  to  him,  and 
urged  no  claims  against  anyone  either  in  heaven 
or  on  earth.  But  when  he  was  tired  out  with  his 
work  at  the  forge,  there  was  a  satisfaction  in  say- 
ing to  his  wife:  "No,  Merle,  didn't  I  tell  you  I 
wouldn't  have  you  carrying  the  water  up?  Give 
me  the  bucket."  "You? — you  look  fit  for  it,  don't 
you?"  "Hang  it  all,  am  I  a  man,  or  am  I  not? 
Get  back  to  your  kitchen — that's  the  place  for  a 
woman."  So  he  carried  water,  and  his  mood  was 
the  brighter  for  it,  though  he  might  feel  at  times 
as  if  his  back  were  breaking.  And  sometimes, 
"I'm  feeling  lazy,  to-day,  Merle,"  he  would  say. 
"If  you  don't  mind  I'll  stay  in  bed  a  bit  longer." 
And  she  understood.  She  knew  from  experience 
that  these  were  the  days  when  his  nightmare  head- 
ache was  upon  him,  and  that  it  was  to  spare  her 
he  called  it  laziness. 

They  had  a  cow  now,  and  a  pig  and  some  fowls. 


310  The  Great  Hunger 

It  was  not  exactly  on  the  same  scale  as  at  Loreng, 
but  it  had  the  advantage  that  he  could  manage  it 
all  himself.  Last  year  they  had  raised  so  many 
potatoes  that  they  had  been  able  to  sell  a  few 
bushels.  They  did  not  buy  eggs  any  more — they 
sold  them.  Peer  carried  them  down  himself  to 
the  local  dealer,  sold  them  at  market  price,  and 
bought  things  they  might  need  with  the  money. 
Why  not?  Merle  did  not  think  it  beneath  her  to 
wash  and  scrub  and  do  the  cooking.  True  enough, 
things  had  been  different  with  them  once,  but  it 
was  only  Merle  now  who  ever  had  moments  of 
dreaming  that  the  old  days  might  come  hack. 
Otherwise,  for  both  him  and  her  it  was  as  if  they 
had  been  washed  ashore  on  a  barren  coast,  and 
must  try  to  live  through  the  grey  days  as  best 
they  could. 

It  would  happen  once  in  a  while  that  a  mowing 
machine  of  the  new  American  type  would  be  sent 
in  by  some  farmer  to  the  smithy  for  repairs. 
When  this  happened,  Peer  would  shut  his  lips 
close,  with  a  queer  expression,  look  at  the  machine 
for  a  moment,  and  swallow  something  in  his  throat. 
The  man  who  had  stolen  this  thing  from  him  and 
bettered  it  by  a  hairsbreadth  was  doubtless  a  mil- 
lionaire by  now  on  the  strength  of  it. 

It  cost  him  something  of  an  effort  to  take  these 
repairs  in  hand,  but  he  bowed  his  head  and  set  to. 
Merle,  poor  girl,  needed  a  pair  of  shoes. 

At  times,  too,  he  would  turn  from  the  anvil  and 
the  darkness  within  and  come  out  into  the  doorway 


The  Great  Hunger  811 

for  a  breath  of  air;  and  here  he  would  look  out 
upon  the  day — the  great  broad  empty  day. 

A  man  with  a  sledge-hammer  in  his  hands  in- 
stinctively looks  up  at  the  heavens.  He  has  in- 
herited that  instinct  from  his  great  ancestor,  who 
brought  down  fire  and  thought  to  men,  and  taught 
them  to  rebel  against  God. 

Peer  looked  at  the  sky,  and  at  the  clouds,  sweep- 
ing across  it  in  a  meaningless  turmoil.  Rebellion 
against  someone  up  there!  But  heaven  is  empty. 
There  is  no  one  to  rebel  against. 

But  then  all  the  injustice,  the  manifold  iniquity ! 
Who  is  to  sit  in  judgment  on  it  at  the  great  day? 

Who?    No  one. 

What?  Think  of  the  millions  of  all  kinds  of 
martyrs,  who  died  under  the  bloodiest  torments, 
yet  innocent  as  babes  at  the  breast — is  there  to  be 
no  day  of  reparation  for  them? 

None. 

But  there  must  be  a  whole  world-full  of  victims 
of  injustice,  whose  souls  flit  restlessly  around,  be- 
cause they  died  under  a  weight  of  undeserved 
shame — because  they  lost  a  battle  in  which  the 
right  was  theirs — because  they  suffered  and  strove 
for  truth,  but  went  down  because  falsehood  was 
the  stronger.  Truth?  Eight?  Is  there  no  one, 
then,  who  will  one  day  give  peace  to  the  dead  in 
their  graves  and  set  things  in  their  right  places? 
Is  there  no  one? 

No  one. 


812  The  Great  Hunger 

The  world  rolls  on  its  way.  Fate  is  blind,  and 
God  smiles  while  Satan  works  his  will  upon  Job. 

Hold  yonr  peace  and  grip  your  sledge-hammer, 
idiot.  If  ever  your  conscience  should  embrace  the 
universe,  that  day  the  horror  of  it  would  strike  you 
dead.  Eemember  that  you  are  a  vertebrate  ani- 
mal, and  it  is  by  mistake  that  you  have  developed 
a  soul. 

Cling,  clang.  The  red  sparks  fly  from  the  anvil. 
Live  out  your  life  as  it  is. 

But  there  began  to  dawn  in  him  a  strange  long- 
ing to  be  united  to  all  those  unfortunates  whom 
fate  had  blindly  crushed ;  to  gather  them  together, 
not  to  a  common  lamentation,  but  to  a  common  vic- 
tory. Not  for  vengeance,  but  for  a  song  of  praise. 
Behold,  Thou  eternal  Omnipotence,  how  we  requite 
Thy  cruelty — we  praise  life :  see  how  much  more 
godlike  we  are  than  Thou. 

A  temple,  a  temple  for  the  modern  spirit  of 
man,  hungry  for  eternity — not  for  the  babbling  of 
prayers,  but  for  a  hymn  from  man's  munificent 
heart  sent  pealing  up  to  heaven.  Will  it  come — - 
will  it  one  day  be  built? 

One  evening  Peer  came  home  from  the  post-of- 
fice apparently  in  high  spirits.  "Hi,  Merle,  Pve 
got  a  letter  from  the  Bruseth  lady." 

Merle  glanced  at  Lorentz,  who  had  instinctively 
come  close  to  her,  and  was  looking  at  his  father. 

"From  Bruseth?  How  is  Louise  getting  on?" 
she  asked. 


The  Great  Hunger  313 

"You  can  see  for  yourself.  Here's  the  letter," 
said  he. 

Merle  read  it  through  hurriedly,  and  glanced  at 
Lorentz  once  more. 

That  evening,  after  the  children  had  gone  to 
bed,  the  father  and  mother  sat  up  talking  together 
in  a  low  voice. 

And  Merle  had  to  admit  that  her  husband  was 
right.  It  would  be  selfish  of  them  to  keep  the  boy 
here,  when  he  might  be  heir  to  Bruseth  some  day 
if  they  let  him  go. 

Suppose  he  stayed  and  worked  here  under  his 
father  and  learned  to  be  a  smith?  The  black- 
smith 's  day  is  over — factories  do  all  the  work  now. 

And  what  schooling  could  he  get  away  here  in 
the  country!  Aunt  Marit  offered  to  send  him  to 
a  good  school. — And  so  the  die  was  cast  for  him 
too. 

But  when  they  went  with  the  boy  to  see  him  off 
at  the  station,  the  mother's  handkerchief  was  at 
her  eyes  all  the  time,  do  what  she  would. 

And  when  they  came  home  she  had  to  lie  down 
in  bed,  while  Peer  went  about  the  place,  humming 
to  himself,  while  he  got  ready  a  little  supper  and 
brought  it  to  her  bedside. 

"I  can't  understand  how  you  can  take  it  so 
easily,"  she  burst  out. 

* '  No— no, ' '  he  laughed  a  little  oddly.  ' '  The  less 
said  about  that  the  better,  perhaps." 

But  the  next  day  it  was  Peer  who  said  he  felt 


814  The  Great  Hunger 

lazy  again  and  would  lie  still  a  bit.  Merle  looked 
at  him  and  stroked  Ms  forehead. 

And  the  time  went  on.  They  worked  hard  and 
constantly  to  make  both  ends  meet  without  help, 
and  they  were  content  to  take  things  as  they  came. 
When  the  big  dairy  was  started  close  by,  he  made 
a  good  deal  of  money  setting  up  the  plant,  but 
he  was  not  above  sharpening  a  drill  for  the  road- 
gangs  either.  He  was  often  to  be  seen  going  down 
to  the  country  store  in  a  sleeved  waistcoat  with  a 
knapsack  on  his  back.  He  carried  his  head  high, 
the  close- trimmed  beard  was  shading  over  into 
white,  his  face  often  had  the  strained  look  that 
comes  from  sleeplessness,  but  his  step  was  light, 
and  he  still  had  a  joke  for  the  girls  whom  he  met. 

In  summer,  the  neighbours  would  often  see  them 
shutting  up  the  house  and  starting  off  up  the  hill 
with  knapsack  and  coffee-kettle  and  with  little 
Asta  trotting  between  them.  They  were  gone,  it 
might  be,  to  try  and  recapture  some  memory  of 
old  days,  with  coffee  in  the  open  air  by  a  picnic 
fire. 

In  the  autumn,  when  the  great  fields  yellowed  all 
the  hillsides,  Peer  and  Merle  had  a  little  plot  of 
their  own  that  showed  golden  too.  The  dimensions 
of  things  had  shrunk  not  a  little  for  these  two.  A 
bushel  of  corn  was  much  to  them  now.  It  hit  them 
hard  if  their  potato-patch  yielded  a  couple  of  meas- 
ures less  than  they  had  reckoned  on.  But  the 
housewives  from  the  farms  near  by  would  often 
look  in  on  Merle  to  see  how  bright  and  clean  she 


The  Great  Hwager  315 

kept  her  little  house ;  and  now  that  she  had  no  one 
to  help  her,  she  found  time  herself  to  teach  the 
peasant  girls  something  of  cooking  and  sewing. 

But  one  habit  had  grown  upon  her.  She  would 
stand  long  and  long  by  the  window  looking  down 
the  valley  to  where  the  hills  closed  it  in.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  looking  constantly  for  something 
to  come  in  sight,  something  that  should  bring  them 
better  days.  It  was  a  kind  of  Sunday  for  her  to 
stand  there  and  look  and  wait. 

And  the  time  went  on. 


Chapter  VII 

DEAB  KLAUS  BROOK, 

I  write  to  tell  you  of  what  has  lately  happened 
to  us  here,  chiefly  in  the  hope  that  it  may  be  some 
comfort  to  yourself.  For  I  have  discovered,  dear 
friend,  that  this  world-sorrow  of  ours  is  something 
a  man  can  get  over,  if  only  he  will  learn  to  see  with 
his  own  eyes  and  not  with  those  of  others. 

Most  men  would  say  things  have  steadily  gone 
from  bad  to  worse  with  me,  and  certainly  I  shall 
not  pretend  to  feel  any  love  for  suffering  in  itself. 
On  the  contrary,  it  hurts.  It  does  not  ennoble.  It 
rather  brutalises,  unless  it  becomes  so  great  that 
it  embraces  all  things.  I  was  once  Engineer  in 
charge  at  the  First  Cataract — now  I  am  a  black- 
smith in  a  country  parish.  And  that  hurts.  I  am 
cut  off  from  reading  because  of  my  eyes,  and  from 
intercourse  with  people  whose  society  would  be  a 
pleasure  because  there  are  no  such  people  here. 
All  this  hurts,  even  when  you've  grown  used  to  it 
— a  good  thing  in  itself  it  is  not.  Many  times  I 
have  thought  that  we  must  have  reached  the  very 
bottom  of  the  inclined  plane  of  adversity,  but  al- 
ways it  proved  to  be  only  a  break.  The  deepest 
deep  was  still  to  come.  You  work  on  even  when 
your  head  feels  like  to  split;  you  save  up  every 


The  Great  Hunger  317 

pin,  every  match ;  and  yet  the  "bread  you  eat  often 
tastes  of  charity.  That  hurts.  You  give  up  hop- 
ing that  things  may  be  better  some  day ;  you  give 
up  all  hope,  all  dreams,  all  faith,  all  illusions — 
surely  you  have  come  to  the  end  of  all  things.  But 
no ;  the  very  roots  of  one 's  being  are  still  left ;  the 
most  precious  thing  of  all  is  still  left.  What  can 
that  be,  you  ask? 

That  is  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you. 

The  thing  that  happened  came  just  when  things 
were  beginning  to  look  a  little  brighter  for  us. 
For  some  time  past  my  head  had  been  less  trouble- 
some, and  I  had  got  to  work  on  a  new  harrow — 
steel  again;  it  never  lets  one  rest — and  you  know 
what  endless  possibilities  a  man  sees  in  a  thing 
like  that.  Merle  was  working  with  fresh  courage. 
What  do  you  think  of  a  wife  like  that?  taking  up 
the  cross  of  her  own  free  will,  to  go  on  sharing  the 
life  of  a  ruined  man?  I  hope  you  may  meet  a 
woman  of  her  sort  one  day.  True,  her  hair  is 
growing  grey,  and  her  face  lined.  Her  figure  is 
not  so  straight  as  once  it  was ;  her  hands  are  red 
and  broken.  And  yet  all  this  has  a  soul  of  its  own, 
a  beauty  of  its  own,  in  my  eyes,  because  I  know 
that  each  wrinkle  is  a  mark  left  by  the  time  when 
some  new  trouble  came  upon  us,  and  found  us  to- 
gether. Then  one  day  she  smiles,  and  her  smile 
has  grown  strained  and  full  of  sadness,  but  again 
it  brings  back  to  me  times  when  both  heaven  and 
earth  breathed  cold  upon  us  and  we  drew  closer 
to  each  other  for  warmth.  Our  happiness  and  our 


318  The  Great  Hunger 

sufferings  have  moulded  her  into  what  she  now  is. 
The  world  may  think  perhaps  that  she  is  growing 
old ;  to  me  she  is  only  more  beautiful  than  before. 
And  now  I  am  coming  to  what  I  was  going  to 
tell  you.  You  will  understand  that  it  was  not  easy 
to  send  away  the  two  children,  and  it  doesn't  make 
things  better  to  get  letters  from  them  constantly 
begging  us  to  let  them  come  home  again.  But  we 
had  still  one  little  girl  left,  little  Asta,  who  was 
just  five.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her.  If  you 
were  a  father  and  your  tortured  nerves  had  often 
made  you  harsh  and  unreasonable  with  the  two 
elder  ones,  you  would  try — would  you  not? — to 
make  it  up  in  loving-kindness  to  the  one  that  was 
left.  Asta — isj't  it  pretty?  Imagine  a  sunburnt 
little  being  with  black  hair,  and  her  mother's  beau- 
tiful eyebrows,  always  busy  with  her  dolls,  or 
fetching  in  wood,  or  baking  little  cakes  of  her  own 
for  father  when  mother's  baking  bread  for  us  all, 
chattering  to  the  birds  on  the  roof,  or  singing 
now  and  then,  just  because  some  stray  note  of 
music  has  come  into  her  head.  When  mother  is 
busy  scrubbing  the  floor,  little  Asta  must  needs 
get  hold  of  a  wet  rag  behind  her  back  and  slop 
away  at  a  chair,  until  she  has  got  herself  in  a 
terrible  mess,  and  then  she  gets  smacked,  and 
screams  for  a  moment,  but  soon  runs  out  and  sings 
herself  happy  again.  When  you're  at  work  in  the 
smithy,  there  comes  a  sound  of  little  feet,  and 
" Father,  come  to  dinner";  and  a  little  hand  takes 
hold  of  you  and  leads  you  to  the  door.  "Are  you 


The  Great  Hwiger  819 

going  to  bath  me  to-night,  father?"  Or  " Here's 
your  napkin,  father."  And  though  there  might 
be  only  potatoes  and  milk  for  dinner,  she  would 
eat  as  if  she  were  seated  at  the  grandest  banquet. 
''Aren't  potatoes  and  milk  your  favourite  dish, 
father  ? ' '  And  she  makes  faces  at  you  in  the  eager- 
ness of  her  questionings.  At  night  she  slept  in  a 
box  at  the  foot  of  our  bed,  and  when  I  was  lying 
sleepless,  it  would  often  happen  that  her  light, 
peaceful  breathing  filled  me  too  with  peace;  and 
it  was  as  if  her  little  hand  took  mine  and  led  me 
on  to  sleep  itself,  to  beautiful,  divine  sleep. 

And  now,  as  I  come  to  the  thing  that  happened, 
I  find  it  a  little  hard  to  write — my  hand  begins  to 
tremble.  But  my  hope  is  that  there  may  be  some 
comfort  in  it  for  you  too,  as  there  has  proved  to 
be  for  Merle  and  me  in  the  end. 

Our  next  neighbours  here  were  a  brazier  and 
his  wife — poor  folks,  like  ourselves.  Soon  after 
we  first  came  I  went  over  to  have  a  talk  with  him. 
I  found  him  a  poor  wizened  little  creature,  potter- 
ing about  with  his  acids,  and  making  a  living  as 
best  as  he  could,  soldering  and  tinning  kettles  and 
pans.  "What  do  you  want?"  he  asked,  looking 
askance  at  me ;  and  as  I  went  out,  I  heard  him  bolt 
the  door  behind  me.  Alas !  he  was  afraid — afraid 
that  I  was  come  to  snatch  his  daily  bread  from 
him.  His  wife  was  a  big-boned  fleshy  lump  of  a 
woman,  insolent  enough  in  her  ways,  though  she 
had  just  been  in  prison  for  criminal  abetment  in 
the  case  of  a  girl  that  had  got  into  trouble. 


320  The  Great  Hunger 

One  Sunday  morning  I  was  standing  looking  at 
some  apple  trees  in  bloom  in  Ms  garden.  One  of 
them  grew  so  close  to  the  fence  that  the  branches 
hung  over  on  my  side,  and  I  bent  one  down  to  smell 
the  blossom.  Then  suddenly  I  heard  a  cry:  "Hi, 
Tiger!  catch  him!"  and  the  brazier's  great  wolf- 
dog  came  bounding  down,  ready  to  fly  at  my  throat. 
I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  hold  of  its  collar  before 
it  could  do  me  any  harm,  and  I  dragged  it  up  to 
its  owner,  and  told  him  that  if  anything  of  the 
sort  happened  again  I'd  have  the  sheriff's  officer 
after  him.  Then  the  music  began.  He  fairly  let 
himself  go  and  told  me  what  he  thought  of  me. 
"You  hold  your  jaw,  you  cursed  pauper,  coming 
here  taking  the  bread  out  of  honest  working  peo- 
ple's mouths,"  and  so  on.  He  hissed  it  out, 
flourishing  his  arms  about,  and  at  last  it  seemed  to 
me  he  was  fumbling  about  for  a  knife  or  something 
to  throw  at  my  head.  I  couldn't  help  laughing. 
It  was  a  scene  in  the  grand  style  between  two 
Great  Powers  in  the  world-competition. 

A  couple  of  days  later  I  was  standing  at  the 
forge,  when  I  heard  a  shriek  from  my  wife.  I 
rushed  out — what  could  be  the  matter?  Merle  was 
down  by  the  fence  already,  and  all  at  once  I  saw 
what  it  was — there  was  Asta,  lying  on  the  ground 
under  the  body  of  a  great  beast. 

And  then Well,  Merle  tells  me  it  was  I  that 

tore  the  thing  away  from  the  little  bundle  of 
clothes  beneath  it,  and  carried  our  little  girl  home. 

A  doctor  is  often  a  good  refuge  in  trouble,  but 


The  Great  Hunger  321 

though  he  may  sew  up  a  ragged  tear  in  a  child's 
throat  ever  so  neatly,  it  doesn't  necessarily  follow 
that  it  will  help  much. 

There  was  a  mother,  though,  that  would  not  let 
him  go — that  cried  and  prayed  and  clung  about 
him,  begging  him  to  try  once  more  if  nothing  could 
be  done.  And  when  at  last  he  was  gone,  she  was 
always  for  going  after  him  again,  and  grovelled  on 
the  floor  and  tore  her  hair — could  not,  would  not, 
believe  what  she  knew  was  true. 

And  that  night  a  father  and  mother  sat  up  to- 
gether, staring  strangely  in  front  of  them.  The 
mother  was  quiet  now.  The  child  was  laid  out, 
decked  and  ready.  The  father  sat  by  the  window, 
looking  out.  It  was  in  May,  and  the  night  was 
grey. 

Now  it  was  that  I  began  to  realise  how  every 
great  sorrow  leads  us  farther  and  farther  out  on 
the  promontory  of  existence.  I  had  come  to  the 
outermost  point  now — there  was  no  more. 

And  I  discovered  too,  dear  friend,  that  these 
many  years  of  adversity  had  shaped  me  not  in 
one  but  in  various  moulds,  for  I  had  in  me  the  stuff 
for  several  quite  distinct  persons,  and  now  the 
work  was  done,  and  they  could  break  free  from 
my  being  and  go  their  several  ways. 

I  saw  a  man  rush  out  into  the  night,  shaking  his 
fist  at  heaven  and  earth ;  a  madman  who  refused 
to  play  his  part  in  the  farce  any  more,  and  so 
rushed  down  towards  the  river. 

But  I  myself  sat  there  still. 


322  The  Great  Hunger 

And  I  saw  another,  a  puny  creature,  let  loose ;  a 
humble,  ashen-grey  ascetic,  that  bent  his  head  and 
bowed  under  the  lash,  and  said:  "Thy  will  be 
done.  The  Lord  gave,  the  Lord  hath  taken 

away ' '  A  pitiful  being  this,  that  stole  out  into 

the  night  and  disappeared. 

But  I  myself  sat  there  still. 

I  sat  alone  on  the  promontory  of  existence,  with 
the  sun  and  the  stars  gone  out,  and  ice-cold  empti- 
ness above  me,  about  me,  and  in  me,  on  every  side. 

But  then,  my  friend,  by  degrees  it  dawned  on 
me  that  there  was  still  something  left.  There  was 
one  little  indomitable  spark  in  me,  that  began  to 
glow  all  by  itself — it  was  as  if  I  were  lifted  back 
to  the  first  day  of  existence,  and  an  eternal  will 
rose  up  in  me,  and  said :  Let  there  be  light ! 

This  will  it  was  that  by  and  by  grew  and  grew 
in  me,  and  made  me  strong. 

I  began  to  feel  an  unspeakable  compassion  for 
all  men  upon  earth,  and  yet  in  the  last  resort  I 
was  proud  that  I  was  one  of  them. 

I  understood  how  blind  fate  can  strip  and  plun- 
der us  of  all,  and  yet  something  will  remain  in  us 
at  the  last,  that  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  can 
vanquish.  Our  bodies  are  doomed  to  die,  and  our 
spirit  to  be  extinguished,  yet  still  we  bear  within 
us  the  spark,  the  germ  of  an  eternity  of  harmony 
and  light  both  for  the  world  and  for  God. 

And  I  knew  now  that  what  I  had  hungered  after 
in  my  best  years  was  neither  knowledge,  nor 
honour,  nor  riches  j  nor  to  be  a  priest  or  a  great 


The  Great  Hunger  323 

creator  in  steel;  no,  friend,  but  to  build  temples; 
not  chapels  for  prayers  or  churches  for  wailing 
penitent  sinners,  but  a  temple  for  the  human  spirit 
in  its  grandeur,  where  we  could  lift  up  our  souls 
in  an  anthem  as  a  gift  to  heaven. 

I  could  never  do  this  now.  Perhaps  there  was 
nothing  that  I  could  do  any  more.  And  yet  it 
seemed  to  me  as  I  sat  there  that  I  had  conquered. 

What  happened  then?  Well,  there  had  been  a 
terrible  drought  all  that  spring — it  is  often  so  in 
this  valley.  The  eternal  north  wind  sent  the  dry 
mould  sweeping  in  clouds  over  the  whole  country- 
side, and  we  were  threatened  with  one  of  our  worst 
years  of  scarcity  if  the  rain  didn't  come. 

At  last  people  ventured  to  sow  their  corn,  but 
then  the  frosts  set  in,  and  snow  and  sleet,  and  the 
seed  froze  in  the  earth.  My  neighbour  the  brazier 
had  his  patch  of  ground  sown  with  barley — but 
now  he  would  have  to  sow  it  again,  and  where  was 
he  to  get  the  seed?  He  went  from  farm  to  farm 
begging  for  some,  but  people  hated  the  sight  of 
him  after  what  had  happened  about  Asta — no  one 
would  lend  him  any,  and  he  had  no  money  to  buy. 
The  boys  on  the  roads  hooted  after  him,  and  some 
of  the  neighbours  talked  of  driving  him  out  of  the 
parish. 

I  wasn't  able  to  sleep  much  the  next  night  either, 
and  when  the  clock  struck  two  I  got  up.  "  Where 
are  you  going?"  asked  Merle.  "I  want  to  see  if 
we  haven't  a  half -bushel  of  barley  left,"  I  said. 
"  Barley — what  do  you  want  with  barley  in  the 


324  The  Great  Hunger 

middle  of  the  night  ?  "  * '  I  want  to  sow  the  brazier 's 
plot  with  it,"  I  said,  "and  it's  best  to  do  it  now, 
so  that  nobody  will  know  it  was  me." 

She  sat  up  and  stared  at  me.  "What?  His — 
the — the  brazier 's  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "It  won't  do  us  any  good,  you 
know,  to  see  his  bit  of  field  lying  bare  all  summer." 

"Peer — where  are  you  going?" 

"I've  told  you,"  said  I,  and  went  out.  But  I 
knew  that  she  was  dressing  and  meant  to  come 
too. 

It  had  rained  during  the  night,  and  as  I  came 
out  the  air  was  soft  and  easy  to  breathe.  The 
morning  still  lay  in  a  grey  half-light  with  yellow 
gleams  from  the  wind-clouds  to  the  north.  The 
scent  of  the  budding  birches  was  in  the  air,  the 
magpies  and  starlings  were  up  and  about,  but  not 
a  human  soul  was  to  be  seen;  the  farms  were 
asleep,  the  whole  countryside  was  asleep. 

I  took  the  grain  in  a  basket,  climbed  over  the 
neighbour's  fence  and  began  to  sow.  No  sign  of 
life  in  the  house;  the  sheriff's  officer  had  come 
over  and  shot  the  dog  the  day  before ;  no  doubt  the 
'brazier  and  his  wife  were  lying  sleeping,  dreaming 
maybe  of  enemies  all  around,  trying  their  best  to 
do  them  harm. 

Dear  friend,  is  there  any  need  to  tell  the  rest? 
Just  think,  though,  how  one  man  may  give  away 
a  kingdom,  and  it  costs  him  nothing,  and  another 
may  give  up  a  few  handfuls  of  corn,  and  it  means 
to  him  not  only  all  that  he  has,  but  a  world  of 


The  Great  Hunger  325 

struggle  and  passion  before  he  can  bring  his  soul 
to  make  that  gift.  Do  you  think  that  is  nothing! 
As  for  me — I  did  not  do  this  for  Christ's  sake,  or 
because  I  loved  my  enemy ;  but  because,  standing 
upon  the  ruins  of  my  life,  I  felt  a  vast  responsibil- 
ity. Mankind  must  arise,  and  be  better  than  the 
blind  powers  that  order  its  ways ;  in  the  midst  of 
its  sorrows  it  must  take  heed  that  the  god-like 
does  not  die.  The  spark  of  eternity  was  once 
more  aglow  in  me,  and  said :  Let  there  be  light. 

And  more  and  more  it  came  home  to  me  that  it 
is  man  himself  that  must  create  the  divine  in 
heaven  and  on  earth — that  that  is  his  triumph  over 
the  dead  omnipotence  of  the  universe.  Therefore 
I  went  out  and  sowed  the  corn  in  my  enemy's  field, 
that  God  might  exist. 

Ah,  if  you  had  known  that  moment !  It  was  as 
if  the  air  about  me  grew  alive  with  voices.  It 
was  as  though  all  the  unfortunates  I  had  seen  and 
known  were  bearing  me  company ;  more  and  more 
they  came;  the  dead  too  were  joined  to  us,  an 
army  from  times  past  and  long  ago.  Sister  Louise 
was  there,  she  played  her  hymn,  and  drew  the 
voices  all  together  into  a  choir,  the  choir  of  the 
living  and  the  dead,  the  choir  of  all  mankind.  See, 
here  are  we  all,  your  sisters  and  brothers.  Your 
fate  is  ours.  We  are  flung  by  the  indifferent  law 
of  the  universe  into  a  life  that  we  cannot  order 
as  we  would ;  we  are  ravaged  by  injustice,  by  sick- 
ness and  sorrow,  by  fire  and  blood.  Even  the  hap- 
piest must  die.  In  his  own  home  he  is  but  on  a 


326  The  Great  Hunger 

visit.  He  never  knows  but  that  he  may  be  gone  to- 
morrow. And  yet  man  smiles  and  laughs  in  the 
face  of  his  tragic  fate.  In  the  midst  of  his  thral- 
dom he  has  created  the  beautiful  on  earth ;  in  the 
midst  of  his  torments  he  has  had  so  much  surplus 
energy  of  soul  that  he  has  sent  it  radiating  forth 
into  the  cold  deeps  of  space  and  warmed  them  with 
God. 

So  marvellous  art  thou,  0  spirit  of  man!  So 
godlike  in  thy  very  nature !  Thou  dost  reap  death, 
and  in  return  thou  sowest  the  dream  of  everlasting 
life.  In  revenge  for  thine  evil  fate  thou  dost  fill 
the  universe  with  an  all-loving  God. 

We  bore  our  part  in  his  creation,  all  we  who 
now  are  dust;  we  who  sank  down  into  the  dark 
like  flames  gone  out ; — we  wept,  we  exulted,  we  felt 
the  ecstasy  and  the  agony,  but  each  of  us  brought 
our  ray  to  the  mighty  sea  of  light,  each  of  us,  from 
the  negro  setting  up  the  first  mark  above  the  grave 
of  his  dead  to  the  genius  raising  the  pillars  of 
a  temple  towards  heaven.  We  bore  our  part,  from 
the  poor  mother  praying  beside  a  cradle,  to  the 
hosts  that  lifted  their  songs  of  praise  high  up  into 
boundless  space. 

Honour  to  thee,  0  spirit  of  man.  Thou  givest  a 
soul  to  the  world,  thou  settest  it  a  goal,  thou  art 
the  hymn  that  lifts  it  into  harmony;  therefore  turn 
back  into  thyself,  lift  high  thy  head  and  meet 
proudly  the  evil  that  comes  to  thee.  Adversity 
can  crush  thee,  death  can  blot  thee  out,  yet  art 
thou  still  unconquerable  and  eternal. 


The  Great  Hunger  327 

Dear  friend,  it  was  thus  I  felt.  And  when  the 
corn  was  sown,  and  I  went  back,  the  sun  was  glanc- 
ing over  the  shoulder  of  the  hill.  There  by  the 
fence  stood  Merle,  looking  at  me.  She  had  drawn 
a  kerchief  forward  over  her  brow,  after  the  fash- 
ion of  the  peasant  women,  so  that  her  face  was  in 
shadow;  but  she  smiled  to  me — as  if  she,  too,  the 
stricken  mother,  had  risen  up  from  the  ocean  of 
her  suffering  that  here,  in  the  daybreak,  she  might 
take  her  share  in  the  creating  of  God.  .  .  . 


THE  END 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

PBONUNCIATION  OF  PEOPEB  NAMES 

FOB  the  convenience  of  readers  a  few  points  in 
which  Norwegian  pronunciation  differs  from  Eng- 
lish are  noted  below: 

The  vowels  a,  e,  and  i  in  the  middle  of  words 
are  pronounced  much  as  in  Italian. 

aa  =  long  o,  as  in  "post"  or  "pole." 

e  final  is  sounded,  as  in  German;  thus  Louise, 
Merle,  etc. 

d  final  is  nearly  always  elided;  thus  Raastad 
=  Rosta'. 

g  before  e  or  i  is  hard;  thus  Ringeby,  not 
Rinjeby. 

j  =  the  English  y;  thus  Bojer  =  Boyer,  Jens  = 
Yens. 

I  before  another  consonant  is  sounded;  thus 
HoZm,  not  Home. 

CTTBBENCY 

The  unit  of  currency  in  Norway  is  the  crown 
(krone),  which  in  normal  conditions  is  worth 
something  over  thirteen  pence,  so  that  about  eight- 
een crowns  go  to  the  pound  sterling.  Thus  Peer 
Holm's  fortune  in  the  Savings  Bank  represented 
about  £100  in  English  money,  and  a  million  crowns 
is  equivalent  to  about  $260,000  in  American 
money. 

To  avoid  encumbering  the  reader  unnecessarily 
with  the  details  of  Norwegian  currency,  small 
amounts  have  been  represented  in  this  translation 
by  their  equivalents  in  English  money. 

328 


The  Great  Hunger 

By  Johan  Bojer 

>-pHE  GREAT  HUNGER  has  been  a  very  great  suc- 
•••  cess  in  the  English-reading  world.  The  first  of  Johan 
Bojer's  books  to  be  translated  into  this  tongue,  it  made  its 
way,  singularly  unheralded  and  untouted,  into  edition 
after  edition.  The  American  public  simply,  spontaneously 
and  genuinely  likes  it.  It  is  still  selling  steadily  to  those 
who  have  not  yet  chanced  to  have  time  or  opportunity  to 
read  it.  It  is  a  book  not  of  a  season  but  of  permanent 
literary  value. 

The  Philadelphia  Record  called  it  "among  the  most  ap- 
pealing of  the  year,"  and  said,  in  a  long  review,  that  it 
had  "vitality,  power  and  profundity."  The  London  Daily 
Telegraph :  "Both  striking  and  significant."  Joseph  Her- 
gesheimer:  "It  has  a  quality  of  different  beauty,  about 
which,  with  encouragement,  I  could  write  interminably." 
The  Springfield  Republican :  "Not  often  does  a  novel  echo 
the  deeper  cry  of  the  human  heart  and  record  universal 
human  emotions  so  effectively  as  Johan  Bojer's  'The 
Great  Hunger.' " 

I2mo,  327  pages 
Price  $2.00 

At  All  Bookstores  Published  by 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

353  Fourth  Avenue  New  York  City 


The  Power  of  a  Lie 

By  Johan  Bojer 

THIS  is  the  novel  which  gained  for  the  author  of  "The 
Great  Hunger"  the  laurels  of  the  French  Academy. 
This  and  nearly  all  of  Johan  Bojer's  works  have  been 
translated  into  French,  and  into  seven  other  languages  as 
well. 

"The  Power  of  a  Lie"  shows  a  crudely  selfish  soul  grow- 
ing to  generosity  and  comeliness  and  graciousness  under 
the  sun  of  the  completely  undeserved  good  opinion  of  a 
public  which  praises  him,  whose  lie  has  destroyed  another 
man.  It  shows  the  other  man  ruined,  disgraced,  impris- 
oned because  of  this  lie — not  becoming  spiritually  refined 
by  innocent  suffering  but  deteriorating  into  what  the  other 
has  accused  him  of  being. 

A  powerful,  a  tremendous  novel,  of  which  Hall  Caine 
has  said :  "This  is  a  great  book.  I  can  have  no  hesitation 
whatever  in  saying  that.  Rarely  in  reading  a  modern 
novel  have  I  felt  so  strong  a  sense  of  reality.  ...  It  would 
be  difficult  to  praise  too  highly  the  power  and  the  reti- 
cence of  this  story." 

12mo,  311  pages 
Price  $2.00 

At  All  Bookstores  Published  by 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

353  Fourth  Avenue  New  York  City 


Life 


By  Johan  Bojer 

/"T~VHIS  is  the  fifth  novel  of  Johan  Bojer's  to  be  trans- 
•*•  lated  into  English  and  published  in  America.  It  tells 
a  story  of  love  that  is  strong  and  beautiful — and  fated, 
tragic.  Yet  it  is  not  a  book  wholly  of  shadows.  The 
Chicago  Evening  Post  says :  "In  the  present  work,  Bojer 
.  .  .  lets  himself  go.  The  beauty  of  the  Norwegian 
landscape  and  the  beautiful  athletic  life  lived  by  the  people 
who  find  youth  on  these  mountains — find  it  whatever  their 
age  may  be — are  here  depicted  with  greater  fullness  and 
form,  more  a  part  of  the  book  than  in  the  earlier  works. 
And  the  people  who  were  repelled  by  Bojer's  sternness 
will  not  be  so  repelled  by  this  story  which,  though  it  has 
its  tragic  side,  has  a  very  sunny  and  beautiful  side." 

Says  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle:  "The  dominant  im- 
pression left  ...  is  of  freshness  and  vigor,  of  keen  air 
and  lithe  young  bodies,  huge  bonfires  on  the  beach  and  a 
friendliness  untainted  by  snobbery." 

/2mo.  339  pages 
Price  $2.00 

At  All  Bookstores  Published  by 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

353  Fourth  Avenue  New  York  City 


By  Johan  Bojer 

"T7VERY  reader,"  says  the  Chicago  Evening  Post,  "who 
Jt-'  liked  'The  Great  Hunger'  will  surely  wish  to  read 
this  book,  so  intimately  related  to  its  predecessor."  The 
story  of  a  man  who  tries  to  bear  the  wrongs  of  the  world 
upon  his  shoulders ;  who  loses  love,  beauty  and  joy  in  life 
in  his  passionate  welts c hmerz ;  who  then  tries  to  contract 
his  horizon,  to  do  a  little  good  at  close  hand,  humbly  see- 
ing himself  as  a  small  part  of  the  great  protest — the  book 
is  a  wonderfully  penetrating  study  of  a  modern  type. 

"The  author  has  put  his  finger  on  one  of  the  world's 
sorest  spots,"  says  the  Boston  Herald's  long  review. 

"Intensity  and  subtlety  distinguish  it,"  the  Brooklyn 
Eagle  declares ;  "the  characters  are  human  and  appealing." 

"Direct,  sincere  and  unusual." — Heywood  Broun. 

"A  fine  book,  moist  with  life,  which  stands  well  out  of 
the  surrounding  banalities.  You  will  be  foolish  to  miss 
it,"  the  Baltimore  Sun  advises. 

1 2 mo,  328  pages 
Price  $2.00 

At  All  Bookstores  Published  by 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

353  Fourth  Avenue  New  York  City 


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